


The Lord of Blackthorne Manor

by Adolphus Longestaffe (adolphus_longestaffe)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Brief References to Era-Accurate Racial Attitudes, F/F, F/M, M/M, References to Era-Accurate Marriage Customs, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian Language Usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/pseuds/Adolphus%20Longestaffe
Summary: Jesse McCree is the steward of the wealthy and mysterious Duke of Blackthorne. Blackthorne Manor is the grandest estate in the shire of Watchpoint, where the country houses of many noble families are located. This summer season brings exciting news to the residents of the sleepy little shire: A young nobleman and his brother are coming all the way from Japan to live in the beautiful Cherrywood Manor, the grounds of which happen to adjoin those of Blackthorne Manor.





	The Lord of Blackthorne Manor

**Author's Note:**

> Very lovely artwork for this piece by the extraordinarily talented Ssaravinter. 
> 
> http://ssaravinter.tumblr.com/post/172457897245/part-1-part-2-so-ive-been-paired-up-with-the
> 
> http://ssaravinter.tumblr.com/post/172458094080/part-1-part-2-second-illustration-of

 

 

It was the middle of August and Parliament had recently adjourned, heralding the close of the London season. The fashionable young men’s thoughts had turned to grouse hunting, and the residents of the shire of Watchpoint had arrived in droves, eager to while away their off-season days in a whirl of delightful balls, soirees, picnics, boating, and of course, the hunting. This particular season came with the promise of special excitement to one Watchpoint inhabitant.

Lady Hana, the Viscountess Song, was the only child of Lord and Lady Song, Earl and Countess of Somerset. She had been presented at court by Lady Song that year, and had unequivocally been the belle of the London season. Lady Hana was lovely, kindhearted, witty, and always knew exactly what to say (or indeed, not to say) in practically any social situation. She was also enormously wealthy. Mothers coveted her vast fortune for their sons, and the sons were equally enthusiastic in their appreciation of her beauty and charm. As a result, she was the most sought-after of all the young ladies in society that year.

Lady Hana was rarely to be found out of the company of her dearest friend, Lady Olivia, Marchioness of Dorado. Lady Olivia’s family was nearly as wealthy as that of Lady Hana, and as she had been the sole heir to her deceased father’s titles and property, she was in a singular position of independence among the young ladies of the fashionable set. Though she had been in society two seasons already, however, she had made no sign of inclining toward any particular suitor, much to the consternation of many a mother with titled but fortuneless sons to dispose of.

Though the two friends were of seemingly irreconcilable temperaments, they had been inseparable since childhood and were as dear and devoted as any sisters could be. In fact, their contrasting dispositions appeared to compliment, rather than clash with one another, and each served to make up the lack, so to speak, in the other’s personality. Lady Olivia, though by no means any less beautiful or clever than her friend, was of a more tranquil temperament, preferring to listen, rather than talk, and reserving judgement till she had all the facts soundly in hand.

Lady Hana preferred to chat gaily with her many acquaintances and suitors, sing, play duets on the pianoforte, and generally bask in being the epicenter of social gatherings. She approached every situation with such earnest and unaffected delight, however, that no one could call her brazen or self-aggrandizing. She simply accepted the admiration of others and returned it with frank and sincere interest. If Lady Hana had one fault, however, it was that she tended to grow bored rather easily. When she grew weary of her usual amusements, she took to meddling.

This tendency was somewhat mitigated by the staying influence of her faithful friend, but when Lady Olivia was absent, Lady Hana had gotten herself into some awkward (though relatively harmless) predicaments. One such notable incident had occurred just a few weeks before, when the Count of Volskaya, a very eligible but very retiring nobleman, had come from Russia to visit Lord Song. The Count had been staying with the Song family at their London house in Grosvenor square, and had expressed a passing appreciation for the charms of a certain notorious opera star.

Lady Hana, with the blissful unworldliness of youth, was ignorant of the diva’s particular sort of notoriety. She had assumed that her father’s warning to her on the subject originated in the antiquated idea that a star of the opera would be considered an unthinkable mésalliance for a nobleman of the Count’s rank. When her parents were engaged elsewhere, she had invited the young woman in question to a luncheon party (commoners were not invited to dinner), with the intention of introducing her to the Count. By the time she had realized her error, however, it was too late to salvage the situation.

The Count, fully cognizant of the singer’s reputation, had blushed to the ears and become exceedingly confused. He had said a few brief words to her, then quickly took his leave of the party and shortly thereafter, of the house entirely. The singer was utterly mortified and left the luncheon in tears, unconsoled by Lady Hana’s profuse apologies (although somewhat palliated by the gift of a spectacular pair of emerald earrings that she had admired on the penitent young noblewoman’s delicate ears).

“I think I shall never live down the shame of having invited that woman into our house,” Lady Hana sighed, collapsing into a theatrical attitude of despair on the chaise longue. “If only you had been here to put a stop to my foolishness! It would have saved me a pair of emerald earrings at least. As well as a stern lecture from papa.”

“My dear conejita,” Lady Olivia replied, with a somewhat more ironical smirk than Lady Hana would have desired, “I only go away to visit my properties once a year. That is just six weeks of fifty-two that I am not in your company. If you would confine your follies to the other forty-six, when I am with you, then you could avoid getting into these scrapes.”

“Oh, dear, wise Olivia,” Lady Hana said, clasping her friend’s hands with the air of a stage heroine. “You are so good. What would become of me without your supervision?”

“You would probably lose your carriage privileges for the rest of your life, scatter your jewels all over every stage performer in London, and wind up being sent to a cloister to meditate on your wickedness,” Lady Olivia replied, giving her hands an affectionate squeeze. “Tell me the news, though,” she said, seating herself beside her supine interlocutor. “What is this I hear about Cherrywood being sold at last?”

Lady Hana leapt up, instantly forgetting her woes in the excitement of the thrilling piece of information she had to relate. She hurried over to her writing desk and produced a letter, which she handed to Lady Olivia with the air of a field-commander delivering vital intelligence to a general.

“That,” she said gesturing to the document, “is the most significant news of the season. I had been anticipating things to be rather dull in the country this year, but I think we will have some amusement, after all.”

“Who is Lord Shimada?” Lady Olivia asked, looking up from the letter.

“Only the most interesting person ever to grace this sleepy little shire,” Lady Hana replied decidedly. “I mean to say, he will be. He is not here quite yet.”

“If he is not here yet, then how can you be sure he is so very interesting, my dear?” Lady Olivia said, smiling patiently.

“Because!” Lady Hana exclaimed, snatching the letter and turning it over. She held it up for her friend to look at and tapped the postmark vigorously with her forefinger. “See? He is coming all the way from Japan! To live at Cherrywood!”

“Japan? That does sound interesting. But how did you come to be acquainted with this fascinating foreign lord?”

“Oh, I am not at all acquainted with him. His father, the late Lord Shimada, and my father were friends a long time ago. They kept up their acquaintance by correspondence all these years. When he passed away, my father continued to correspond with his elder son. He is incredibly wealthy and he likes to put his money into land. He wrote to papa inquiring about viable properties in England, so papa wrote him back and told him all about Cherrywood. He purchased the entire estate, land and all, sight-unseen, with only papa’s word that it was a sound investment. Then papa received this letter.” She brandished the document in question. “It says that he and his brother intend to come and live in the house for a while. They are not here yet, but their belongings are already being moved in. There is a positive army of servants over there preparing the place for their arrival.”

“I hope he will keep up the hunting,” Lady Olivia said, raising an eyebrow. “The gentlemen will stage a revolt if the hounds are interfered with.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. He’s a perfect gentleman, from what papa says of him. And the property adjoins the Blackthorne grounds, so I’m certain the old Duke will make him understand how important it is.”

“I am certain the old Duke will do nothing of the kind,” Lady Olivia rejoined. “But I suppose his man will see to it. He rides to hounds, himself, you know. They say he’s an excellent hunter.”

The old Duke to which the young ladies referred was the most wealthy and powerful man in society at that time, save for the actual royal family. He had been a cabinet minister for a former administration, but had withdrawn from politics some years ago and had since become something of a reclusive figure. He was rarely seen about Watchpoint these days. When questioned on the subject, the Duke’s agent, Mr. McCree (the “man” Lady Olivia spoke of), would inform the inquiring party that the Duke was seeing to his properties on the continent—or engaged in some business dealings in the Orient, or taking the water cure at Bath, or some other excuse no one believed—and courteously offer to relay any message they wished to convey to his grace. Several had tried it, being wary of Mr. McCree’s wily American ways, but a written response in the Duke’s hand was always forthcoming, and so his man was grudgingly accepted as being at least honest enough to be relied upon to carry a message.

Mr. McCree was something of an oddity around Watchpoint. He was very American, in a bold, brash way that could easily have crossed into vulgarity, had he not been equally as gallant and courteous. It was the general consensus among the menfolk that he was a good man to hounds and paid his debts on time, which was as high a compliment as could possibly be bestowed upon an outsider. The women were strongly divided on the subject. In one camp were the married women and the matrons with daughters of a marriageable age. In the opposing camp were the daughters themselves, as well as the girl children, and (oddly enough) most of the grandmothers.

The married women and matrons resoundingly agreed that Mr. McCree was the devil incarnate and a danger to all Christian decency in England. Despite the incongruity in their logic, however, they did grant that he was safe enough to be trusted as an escort home after dark. The marriageable daughters, girl children, and grandmothers thought him to be charming, witty, and very eligible. The fact that he was a strikingly good-looking young man may have had some small effect in his favor with this camp. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and well-dressed. He wore his luxurious, chestnut-brown hair at collar length, and on the seldom occasion when he was seen without his hat, it appeared rather rakishly unruly, but never actually unkempt. His whiskers and moustache were the same rich color as his hair, and his eyes were large, long-lashed, and an odd shade of deep amber-brown that gave them depth and interest.

Those in the know, which included the Ladies Hana and Olivia, had heard a rumor regarding the rugged American agent of the enigmatic Duke. It was whispered in the inner circles that he was, in fact, the son of the Duke from a secret marriage (or even an illicit union) with an American lady, and that his presence on the estate was the Duke’s requirement for his illegitimate son to one day be recognized and to inherit his father’s fortune. Whatever the truth about his parentage, he was the man to see if one wanted to have any kind if dealing with the Duke, and as such, he was a popular and well-known face about town.

“That reminds me,” Lady Olivia continued. “I am on my way over to Blackthorne now. I have something for the Reverend Morrison. Would you like to come with me?”

“I’d be delighted,” Lady Hana said, smiling cheerily. “What do you have for him?”

“He mentioned to me that he was fond of Spanish olives, so I had a case brought back for him when I was in Spain seeing to one of my properties. It’s waiting in the caléche. Shall we go now?”

“Just half a moment, my dear, and I’ll get my bonnet and let mother know we’re going.”

The Reverend John Patrick Morrison, the much-beloved rector of the Blackthorne Parsonage, was a handsome, educated, mild-mannered gentleman of perhaps forty. His neatly-cropped hair was full and thick and showed no sign of thinning, but had been entirely white for many years. His most striking feature was the pair of wide, brilliant-blue eyes that gave his face the perpetual appearance of youthful simplicity.

The Blackthorne Parsonage, a highly desirable benefice, had been bestowed upon him by the old Duke. It was said that the two had been friends in their youth, and that when the Morrison family fortune was ruined by the spendthrift father, the young Mr. Morrison had taken orders as a means of providing for himself and his invalid mother, now deceased. The Archdeacon of the diocese had intended for the Blackthorne Parsonage to be given to a more senior member of the see, but the Duke had gone directly to the Bishop and informed his holiness that if the Reverend Morrison did not accept the position, he would withdraw the benefice from the Anglican Church altogether. The episcopal authority, knowing when they were outmatched, had wisely relented.

Despite his quiet and retiring nature, the Reverend Morrison had quickly become the favorite clergyman in the diocese. His continued status as a bachelor was a matter of intense interest among his lady parishioners, but let us give them the benefit of the doubt, and assume that it was his well-crafted homilies, and not such earthly concerns that caused his pews to be full to bursting each Sunday.

As the caléche pulled up before the quaint and charming parsonage house, the two young ladies remarked upon the handsomeness of a tall bay mare which stood outside, attended by the Reverend Morrison’s groom. The Reverend’s informal style of receiving visitors was well-known to all the parish, so it came as no surprise to them when his housekeeper emerged wiping her hands upon her apron, took charge of the case of olives, and bid the ladies go right in. The drawing room door was open, and they could not help but overhear from the hallway, a part of the conversation taking place between the Reverend Morrison and Mr. McCree.

“I do not wish to appear ungrateful, Mr. McCree,” the Reverend was saying. “But I simply cannot accept her.”

“I understand your predicament, Padre,” Mr. McCree answered, in his languid American drawl. “But I have strict orders to deliver her to you, and I ain’t about to annoy the Duke by bringin’ her back to his stable. If you won’t have her, you’ve got to let him know yourself, that’s all.”

At that moment, the ladies stepped through the door, and the two gentlemen stood and bowed their greetings. Mr. McCree remained only long enough to exchange the proper pleasantries, and then took his brisk but polite leave.

“What a lovely mare that was outside, Reverend,” Lady Hana said, taking the seat he indicated for her.

“Indeed,” Reverend Morrison replied, looking a touch flustered. “She was a gift. From the Duke.”

“How kind of his grace,” Lady Olivia said. “She is beautiful.”

“Ah—yes. She is. Very.”

“What is the matter, Reverend?” Lady Hana inquired, noting his confusion. “Do you not like her?”

“It isn’t that, Lady Hana,” the Reverend replied. “I like her very much. Only, I cannot help but think that I can have no use for such a fine animal. She is gaited, so I cannot very well waste her by tying her to my old oxcart, and I do not hunt, nor ride for sport. In very fact, I attempted to refuse her. Mr. McCree was…adamant on the subject, however, so I suppose I must accept of the gift and attempt to find a suitable use for her.”

“I am certain she will make a fine riding horse for when you have no need of your carriage, Reverend,” Lady Olivia said cheerfully. “Many of the clergy in the diocese keep more than one horse, for that very purpose. Now, I do not mean to overwhelm you, but I have come bearing gifts of my own. Though not quite so fine as a gaited mare. I brought you a case of olives from Spain. I left them with Mrs. Podgens when we came in.”

“How very kind,” the Reverend said, smiling warmly. “Thank you, Lady Olivia. That is a gift for which I will have abundant use.”

“I happen to know Mrs. Podgens is excessively fond of olives,” Lady Hana added, arching an eyebrow. “You must see that she doesn’t eat them all herself before you get a chance to taste them.”

The Reverend chuckled affably at the little joke, and the three friends settled in to chat about Spain and the continent, and the goings-on of the county in general.

“I’m certain you’ve heard that you will have a new neighbor very soon,” Lady Hana said. “Cherrywood has been purchased by a friend of my father. By his son, rather. He and his brother are due any day now.”

“I had heard that the property was to be taken over by two brothers,” the Reverend said. “But I was unaware that they were acquainted with your father. Is it true that they are coming to us all the way from Japan?”

“It is,” Lady Hana said. “Lord Shimada is the elder. I do not know the name of the younger. My father speaks very highly of them.”

“How splendid,” the Reverend replied. “It will be a pleasure to see the lights burning in Cherrywood once again.”

“So it will! I think it’s very exciting to be getting new neighbors from a faraway land. My dear Olivia only hopes that they will keep up the hunting.”

“What can I say?” Lady Olivia said, raising her delicate hands. “I am a devoted partisan of the hounds.”

After a bit more animated speculation regarding the mysterious Shimada brothers, the young ladies rose to take their leave of the Reverend. As Lady Hana turned toward the drawing room door, she was startled half out of her senses by the unexpected presence of a man, who had been standing silently in the doorway for she did not know how long. She backed away a step, trembling with the sudden surprise and, indeed, with fear of the man himself. She had seen the old Duke only once before, when he was present at a soirée given by her parents in their London house. She had been nine years old at the time, and had thought him positively terrifying. Now, at seventeen, she found that this impression was not mitigated by the passage of years.

He towered over her, dressed in black from head to toe, with a heavy, hooded black cape (far out of season for mid-August) over all. The hood was thrown back on his broad shoulders, and his wavy black hair was tied back at the nape of the neck. The right side of his face bore several long, deep scars. He stood looking down at her with what seemed to her to be a severe expression in his dark brown eyes.

“Lady Hana,” he said quietly, in his low, sonorous voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you again. I hope Lord and Lady Song are well.”

Lady Hana was put entirely out of countenance, and could do nothing but stare up at him, with her mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. Lady Olivia, who kept her wits thoroughly about her no matter what the occasion, came to her friend’s rescue.

“Your grace,” she said, curtseying and smiling genially. “I am pleased to find that you have returned safely from your travels abroad.”

“Lady Olivia,” the Duke said, bowing slightly. “Thank you. It is…good to be home.”

Despite her harried nerves, Lady Hana did observe that as the Duke spoke these words to Lady Olivia, his eyes strayed rather to the Reverend, who stood a few paces behind her. The Reverend’s face appeared drawn and pale as he bowed stiffly to his lately-arrived visitor.

“Your grace,” he said, in a strained voice. “I did not know that you had returned. I am glad that you are well. Ladies, thank you so very much for your visit, and for the kind gift.”

Lady Olivia took the cue and after the proper farewells, lead her insensible compatriot from the room with courteous alacrity. She noted, as they passed down the hall, that the Duke had shut the drawing room door behind them.

“My dear Hana,” Lady Olivia said, as they stepped into the caléche. “Whatever made you lose your composure that way? The Duke must think you are a madwoman.”

“Oh, Olivia, don’t laugh!” Lady Hana replied, placing a trembling hand over her heart. “The Duke is so dreadful, he frightened me half out of my wits! How did you not lose _your_ composure!”

“He is not that dreadful,” Lady Olivia said, smiling. “He is simply…different.”

“Must he be so different, though?” Lady Hana said. “All of that black clothing and long hair. He is like a vampire from a novel.”

“Perhaps you should read fewer novels,” Lady Olivia laughed. “Your imagination seems to be all the entertainment you need.”

“The Reverend was just as petrified as I was,” Lady Hana retorted, crossing her arms petulantly. “You saw how pale and shaken he was when the Duke came in.”

“I did,” Lady Olivia said. “But I am not so certain he was as frightened as you say.”

“And then how he shut the door as we left,” Lady Hana persisted, clearly not listening. “We should not have left the Reverend alone with that man. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Duke attempted to murder him! Oh, Olivia, we must go back at once! What if the Duke intends some harm to the dear Reverend!”

“We shall do nothing of the kind, my dear,” Lady Olivia said. “The Duke is not going to harm the dear Reverend, and you are getting away with yourself again. We are due back at your house for dinner, and your mother will worry. Besides, we still have the mysterious Lord Shimada to think of. He will be here soon, and you must plan a soirée to welcome him to the neighborhood.”

Had the young ladies been privy to the scene that unfolded in the Reverend’s drawing room immediately following their departure, it is safe to say that neither of them would have been able to talk or even think of anything else for the foreseeable future. The moment the door clicked shut, the Duke crossed the room in several rapid strides, and fell on his knees before the pale and trembling Reverend. He took the Reverend’s hand in his and pressed it to his forehead in the manner of a religious supplicant.

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned,” he said.

The Reverend tore his hand away and stepped back as if a serpent had struck at him.

“I am not a Catholic priest, Duke,” he said breathlessly. “I cannot hear your confession.”

“You will hear it.”

“It is heresy! I cannot!”

“Hear it!” the Duke roared, catching the Reverend’s wrist and holding it fast in his iron grasp.

“If…if I must,” the Reverend said tremulously. “Say what you have come to say, then. But I cannot absolve you as a priest would do.”

“I have sinned,” the Duke repeated.

“What is the—the nature of this sin?”

“I have had…impure thoughts,” the Duke said, his deep voice dropping to a rasping murmur. “I have impure thoughts. I cannot free my mind of them. They poison my soul and sap the very life from my veins. I cannot escape the desire for—”

“No!” the Reverend gasped, attempting to wrest his hand free with renewed energy. “I cannot listen to this. I will not. For the love of God, let me go!”

“God? For the love of God?” the Duke snarled. He raised himself to his feet, arresting the Reverend’s other wrist as he spoke. “What love have I for God? What kind of God would expect my love, knowing how it has pleased him to see me suffer this way. Tormented day and night without rest or reprieve. Driven out of my own home to seek solitude in the wild places of the world. To escape from…from—”

He stopped short, silenced by the sight of a tear on the Reverend’s pallid cheek.

“Gabriel,” the Reverend said, just above a whisper. “How can you speak to me this way. How can you be so cruel. Do you think that it is only you who suffers? I bear every torment you do, only I must stay put and perform my duties. There is no solitude to which I can escape. I do not have the luxury to indulge my sorrows the way you do.”

“Jack,” the Duke said, drawing the Reverend toward him and pressing him close against his chest. “Jack, forgive me. I do not wish to be cruel to you. I love—”

“No, Gabriel, no! You must not do this to me!” With all his strength, he wrenched himself free and pushed the Duke bodily away from him. “You dishonor me and my cloth by forcing yourself on me this way!”

“I have never forced myself on you, my love,” the Duke said, fixing the Reverend’s brilliant blue eyes in his fiery gaze. “You love me as much as I love you. You have said it to me yourself. Or do you not remember?”

“I…I remember. But I have taken vows, Gabriel.”

“And what of the vow you made to me, Jack? Does that count for nothing? Are you absolved of your word in one case, and bound by it in another, just as it suits you?”

“No. I love you still and I love no other. I have been faithful to that vow.” The Reverend’s blue eyes seemed to spark suddenly to life as he spoke. “I have never broken my word to you, Gabriel.”

“I have not broken—” the Duke began, then stopped short. “You said you had forgiven me, Jack.”

“I have.”

“Then marry me.”

“I am an Anglican clergyman, Gabriel. I am responsible for the spiritual guidance of my parishioners. I cannot—”

“Must you always hold your cloth between us!” the Duke said, with increasing energy. “Anglican clergymen are not prohibited from marrying, Jack. I know it as well as you do.”

“They are not permitted to marry men, Gabriel,” the Reverend said flatly. “Though its policy regarding the laity has shifted, the church has still only accepted such unions with great reserve and under special exception. For clergymen, they are considered by canon law to be an abomination.”

“You will drive me mad with your absurd adherence to a doctrine you know to be false!”

“I do not know it to be false.”

“You do not know it to be—” the Duke broke off, turning away to rest his hands upon the chimneypiece. “Jack, how can the love between two of God’s children be an abomination in his eyes? Is he not the author and originator of the universal love your church professes to espouse and yet would deny to some, for no reason other than their own bigotry?”

“The church has many tenets which are…difficult for me. But there is nothing I can do to alter them. It is not my place to question the ecclesiastical authorities.”

“Then leave the church.”

“I cannot. Must I repeat to you that I have taken a sacred oath? You may hold my word of less worth than that, but I do not. I gave it. And having given it, I will keep it.”

“I could have prevented all of this,” the Duke sighed, dropping wearily into a chair. “Had I only been there, I could have prevented your throwing your life away like this.”

“But you were not,” the Reverend said quietly. “You were gone a long time.”

“Was it really so long?” The Duke asked, looking up wistfully into those sea-blue eyes.

“Long enough to turn a boy of sixteen into a man of twenty-one.”

“Long enough for a man to forget his love?”

“Long enough for a man to believe his love had forgotten him.” They remained silent for a long moment. Then the Reverend said, in a milder tone, “Jesse was here today.”

“I saw that he had been,” the Duke replied, gesturing toward the door. “The mare I sent by him is in your stable.”

“She is beautiful, Gabriel. Thank you.”

The Duke rose abruptly from his chair and took a step toward the Reverend. Then, without another word, he turned and strode rapidly from the room, his black cape billowing out behind him. The Reverend waited until he heard the main door of the house slam shut with a heavy bang, then he went slowly to his writing desk and sat down. One by one, as if in a trance, he brought out his ink stand, his pen, and a sheet of paper. He dipped the nib in the ink and held the pen poised above the blank paper, as if in doubt about how to begin. A black blot of ink splashed onto the paper. He stared at it for a long while. Then he dropped his pen, laid his head down on the paper, and wept.

 

 

Mr. McCree left the parsonage walking in the direction of town, rather than toward Blackthorne. His own horse was in the postmaster’s stable, where he had left it in order to ride the bay mare out to the Reverend Morrison. He smiled to himself at the Reverend’s attempt to refuse the gift. Protest as he might, the Duke would have his own way. He always did. At the bend in the road, he turned to cut across the Cherrywood land. This would shorten his walk by a considerable distance, and the large, lush trees that covered much of the property would afford him some relief from the afternoon sun.

He stopped under the shade of a massive oak tree. Cursing the high-necked British fashion, he loosened his cravat, then pulled it off altogether. He stuffed it into his pocket and opened his collar. Much better. As he was now within view of the manor house, he paused a moment to light a cigar and observe the activity of the many servants bustling all about the place.

“Those Shimadas must be pretty high and mighty to bring a battalion like that with ‘em,” he said aloud to himself, puffing on his cigar.

“Not so high and mighty as all that,” a voice replied from somewhere above him.

He nearly dropped his cigar in surprise, and then stood looking about for the source of the voice, feeling more than a little foolish. A merry laugh fluttered down from the high bows of the tree, almost immediately followed by a boy. Mr. McCree watched, astonished, as the owner of the voice swung blithely off of the branch upon which he’d been seated. He climbed nimbly down the massive bole of the tree, letting go at a height of perhaps two meters, and landed lightly on his feet before Mr. McCree, grinning broadly.

He was a boy of maybe seventeen or eighteen, rather small in stature (thought Mr. McCree, who was over six feet tall), but athletically built. He wore his glossy black hair trimmed short and had a pleasant, handsome face, with large, dark-grey, almond-shaped eyes.

“Well, I’ll be,” Mr. McCree said, removing his hat to wipe his brow. “How’d you learn a trick like that, anyhow?”

“It was nothing. These trees are very easy to climb,” the boy said, extending his hand. “I am Genji. Have you come to see Master Shimada?”

“Jesse,” Mr. McCree said, shaking the boy’s hand. “I didn’t come to see the master, no. To be perfectly honest, I was just usin’ the avenue as a shortcut to town from Blackthorne. It’s a long walk in this weather.”

“Blackthorne is the neighboring property, belonging to the Duke, yes?”

“Yes, it is. I’m the Duke’s steward. Sort of a man of all work, I guess you’d say. Do you work for Lord Shimada?”

The boy laughed again, his eyes dancing with merriment. “I suppose that I do, yes.”

“I didn’t mean no offense with that high and mighty comment, of course,” Mr. McCree said, eyeing the handsome young man curiously. “All I meant was I ain’t often seen this many attendants workin’ all at once in such a frenzy. Not even at the Duke’s house.”

“There is no offense taken,” Genji said brightly. “The servants are very busy because the master was not due to arrive for two more days, and he has surprised them by coming today. But tell me, Jesse, are you not English? Your manner of speaking is not like that of other people I have encountered here.”

“Well, not so much, no. I was born and raised in America, though folks in these parts like referrin’ to it as ‘the Colonies.’ I only been in the Duke’s service a few years now.”

“America!” Genji said, lighting up. “That is very exciting, Jesse. I very much wish to visit there someday. You must tell me of it!”

“I’d be happy to,” Mr. McCree said, replacing his hat. “I best be gettin’ along now, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon, bein’ as we’re neighbors and all. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Genji.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Jesse. But do not go yet! I would very much like it if you would come and take luncheon with me, if the Duke will allow you some free time, perhaps tomorrow?”

Mr. McCree smiled. He was so very much his own master, that the idea of asking the Duke’s leave to take an invitation to lunch would never have occurred to him.

“I think I can arrange that,” he said. “What hour?”

“Say, noon? That is the customary luncheon hour, yes?”

“Yes, it is. Alright, Genji, I’ll be here. Thank you very much for the invitation.”

“Excellent!” Genji said, shaking his hand again. “I will expect you at noon, then! Goodbye Jesse!”

Mr. McCree watched as the ebullient youth trotted off toward the manor house, then turned and went his own way toward town. The traditional attire of the Japanese people was unfamiliar to him, but he thought, as he walked along, that the boy had seemed rather finely dressed for a domestic, in his beautifully-tailored silk tunic and close-fitting trousers. Those Shimadas must be very wealthy, indeed. Mighty friendly servants, though, so he figured he wouldn’t hold it against them.

When he entered Blackthorne Court, the manor house of the Blackthorne property, Mr. McCree instinctively knew that the master of the house was at home. He set his hat on a small table in the foyer and smoothed his unruly hair as best he could. He glanced anxiously about him, as if he thought the Duke might suddenly spring upon him from one of the deep shadows that hung heavily in the vestibules along the cavernous hall.

Despite the many oil lamps that lined the walls, the darkness in this place always seemed to have an unnatural ability to defy any effort to drive away the gloom. He strode down the hallway, making his steps as silent as was possible in his stiff riding boots. He paused before the door to the Duke’s study, took a deep breath, then knocked, wincing at the sharp echo it sent ringing over the the marble floors.

“Come in,” the Duke’s voice called from within.

Mr. McCree opened the door and stepped just inside, leaving it open to facilitate a hasty retreat, should he find the Duke in one of his blacker moods. The Duke had changed his heavy cloak and black woolen suit for a dinner jacket and white shirtsleeves. He was sitting at his broad, mahogany desk making notes in a ledger.

“Ah, Jesse,” the he said, looking up from his work. “You are home. What can I do for you?”

“Evenin’ sir,” Jesse said, using a familiar term of address the Duke would never have brooked coming from another man. “I just wanted to let you know I delivered that mare over to Reverend Morrison. And uh…welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” the Duke replied nonchalantly, as if he saw Mr. McCree every day and had not been gone a year. “I’m expected at Madame Lacroix’s for dinner, so I won’t have anything else for you tonight.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodnight,” Mr. McCree said. Then he paused at the door. “I thought you might like to know, sir, the Shimadas have arrived early. They’re already over at Cherrywood.”

The Duke looked up from his writing again. “Have they indeed? Thank you, Jesse. Goodnight.”

With a dip of his head, Mr. McCree made his retreat, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

 

At precisely noon the next day, Mr. McCree presented himself at the kitchen door of Cherrywood Manor, as was customary when seeking a servant of the house. He did not speak a word of Japanese, and so could not make the cooks understand that he was there to see a young domestic in the Shimadas’ employ, until he repeated the name “Genji,” to them several times.

Then he was led with bewildering alacrity back round to the main entrance of the manor, and ushered into a drawing room. He waited there, mystified by what must be immensely complicated Japanese visiting customs, and inspecting the various exotic knickknacks and vases placed around the room. In a very few minutes, the door opened and a servant announced, “Young Master Shimada,” in English. Mr. McCree turned to see none other than the serving boy he’d met the day before, now entering the room to a deep bow from an attendant.

“Ah, Jesse,” the boy said cheerfully. “I hope that I have not kept you waiting. I am afraid I stayed at my training overlong.”

“Not at all,” Mr. McCree said, flustered by his sudden awareness of the disparity in their social ranks, and uncertain regarding the proper way to address the young nobleman. “I wasn’t here long at all, uh…Master Shimada.”

Genji waved this away with a grin. “Genji, please. My elder brother is Master Shimada. I hope you did not have too much trouble finding me. I did not recall until after you had gone, that I had not fully introduced myself.”

“Well, a little trouble, seein’ as I don’t speak the language. But that’s my own fault. I really should learn.”

“If our language is something that interests you, I would be happy to teach you what I can,” Genji said cordially. “Shall we walk in the garden a bit before we dine? I would offer to show you the house, but it is still in something of a disarray, since we have only just arrived.”

“I’d be delighted,” Mr. McCree said. “I hear Cherrywood’s got just about the prettiest garden in the county.”

“I do not know,” Genji laughed. “Perhaps I will be better able to make such a judgement after I have observed some of the other gardens, but I am already quite fond of it. The vegetation here is very unlike what we are used to in Japan.”

“It’s different to what we got in the States, too. Mostly it’s the trees. The trees here are so beautiful and old. We don’t have any so big and grand and ancient. Where I come from, at least.”

“Where do you come from, Mr. McCree?”

“They call it the New Mexico Territory now. Used to be it was a province of Mexico, and before that, it was a Spanish settlement.”

“How very interesting. It seems that international boundaries must change very frequently there. How does one know to which nation one belongs, if it may change at any moment?”

“Not very well, I suppose,” Mr. McCree laughed. “But Japan has the advantage of being an island, which makes it easier to keep the borders memorized, don’t it?”

“Yes!” Genji, said, joining him in his laugh. “That is very true. Our family has lived on the same land for many, many generations. Shimada Castle was established during the Sengoku Period, in the 1400s.”

“Ain’t that somethin’,” Mr. McCree replied, genuinely awed by the idea. “Your family home is older’n my whole country.”

“Much older, in fact,” Genji smiled. “Your country gained independence centuries after our daimyo clan laid the first stones that would become the outwalls of the castle.”

“That’s a fact. America’s a pretty fair infant compared to most other places. I’d love to see Japan someday. Especially them ancient castles and the like.”

“Perhaps you shall. Shimada Castle is very beautiful. Though I must confess, I tire of it rather easily. My brother says that I am restless and my spirit wanders with the winds.”

“Is that what brought you here?”

“Partly. But let us talk more of the trees. I am making a collection of leaf-pressings and recording my observations of the local flora and fauna, and I would be grateful to hear where I might seek interesting species.”

After an energetic discussion regarding the most desirable spots for observing Watchpoint’s plant and animal life, Genji and Mr. McCree sat down to a long, agreeable lunch in the garden tea house. It was made so by their easy companionship more than the food, which the kitchen staff had taken great care to prepare in the English fashion and which Genji merrily pronounced ‘dreadful.’ By way of agreement, Mr. McCree confessed to him that this was, indeed, what made the meal so precisely English, and that he should rather compliment the kitchen staff on their respectful adherence to local custom.

After lunch, Mr. McCree took his fond leave of his new friend, with a promise to come back tomorrow on his way up from his errands in town and go with him to look over a bit of the Blackthorne grounds which he knew to house several species of birds. Genji went back to the main house in search of his elder brother, who had been all morning in the study, seeing to business matters. As he passed through the foyer, he took the stack of envelopes out of the silver bowl on the entryway table and began to thumb through them.

“Good afternoon, Hanzo,” Genji said cheerfully, as he entered the study. “I have brought the mail. Do you know that the post runs three times a day in this town?”

“Thank you, Genji,” the elder Master Shimada replied, taking the stack of letters. “The English appear to be very impatient to communicate with one another. Though none of them seem to actually have very much to say.”

“I rather like that they talk so much,” Genji shrugged. “It makes everything seem so bustling and full of life. They are always telling one another about the news from Parliament and inquiring after the health of their relatives and horses. They must talk even in their sleep.”

“I think that they might,” his brother smiled. “Who was the young man who was here earlier? Mr. Otanaki tells me that you had lunch with a gentleman from the town.”

“Ah, that was Mr. McCree. I do not think he is what the English would properly term a gentleman, but I found him to be so. He is the Duke of Blackthorne’s steward.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo said. “How very odd.”

“What is it?”

“I had a letter from the Duke this morning and he made no mention of sending his man over.”

“He did not, as far as I know. I met Mr. McCree by chance yesterday passing through the avenue and I invited him to lunch.”

“Ah, I see. Perhaps the Duke has not yet spoken to him.”

“Regarding what? Has he some business with us?”

“When the Duke and I corresponded regarding my purchase of the land adjoining his, I inquired after finding an experienced steward for the Cherrywood property. He mentioned that he had someone in his employ who would be more than qualified to fill the position, if I would like to meet him and decide if he would suit my needs. I wonder if Mr. McCree is not the man in question. But the Duke cannot have two stewards, can he?”

“I do not know,” Genji said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “What does a steward do, exactly?”

“He sees to things the Lord of a manor has not time to do himself, like making small business arrangements, overseeing the care of fences and land, seeing that the property is well supplied, and so forth.”

“I do not suppose he would employ two stewards, then. But Mr. McCree described himself as a man of all work. I did not know he held such an honored position. I would not think that the Duke would offer to transfer his services to another master without informing him.”

“I suppose not, no. He did not mention anything to you about it?”

“Nothing at all. We mostly spoke of local wildlife and Japanese history.”

“Perhaps it is not the same man.”

“I hope not, at least,” Genji said decidedly.

“Why is that? You said you found him to be a gentleman.”

“I did. I like him very much. But I wish him to be my friend, and if we employed him, it would make such a friendship difficult.”

“You are very quick to form friendships, brother,” Hanzo admonished. “You hardly know this man, after all.”

“Ah, but I do not need so much time to judge a man’s character. He is an honest, courteous, and very intelligent man, if a bit rough at the edges. He is an American, you know.”

“I did not know,” Hanzo said distractedly, flipping through the stack of correspondence. “Look, here is a visiting card from Lady Hana Song. How did she know we were already in residence?”

“I do not think that she did. Mr. McCree did not. But it seems that everyone in the shire has been aware of our staff arriving to prepare the place. Perhaps she dropped it as a courtesy, to make us feel welcome upon our arrival.”

“Perhaps. But now we must return her visit and I am very busy today.”

“She is at home to company tomorrow morning,” Genji said, taking the card and turning it over. “We can return her visit then. It will not take long.”

“We should go and introduce ourselves, in any event. Lord Song was our father’s friend, and the reason we are here.”

“Very well,” Genji smiled, getting up from his seat. “Oh, if you wish to meet Mr. McCree, he is to be here tomorrow afternoon. He has offered to take me over to the Blackthorne property and help me seek flora and fauna for my collection.”

“I think will accompany you to Blackthorne, then. I would like to speak to the Duke about this steward he recommended. I cannot very well be seen in the town conducting my own hiring of field hands and foresters.”

“The English are so strange about these things. How does it make a man less of a gentleman if he wants to hire his own household staff?”

“They prefer to keep multiple layers of separation between the gentle and the common. Perhaps they are attempting to forget that they are all the descendants of Anglo-Saxon pirates.”

“And the Americans are the children of the English dissenters,” Genji laughed. “But I do not think Mr. McCree comes from Anglo-Saxons, pirates or no. He is very different to most of the people here. He has a very singular appearance.”

“I look forward to meeting this American non-pirate tomorrow,” Hanzo said. “Will I see you at dinner?”

“Not if the cook prepares any more authentic English cuisine. I do not think my constitution is hardy enough to withstand it twice in a day.”

“Nor is mine,” Hanzo said, shaking his head. “I have told Mr. Otanaki that there is to be no English food at dinner unless we are entertaining guests.”

 

 

The next morning at around ten, Lady Hana and Lady Olivia were seated in the Song’s drawing room receiving the day’s callers. The room had grown rather stuffy in the August heat, and Lady Hana was quickly becoming restless. She was in the act of being chided by Lady Olivia for fidgeting about as if she had ants in her petticoats, when the servant came in to announce Lord Shimada and Master Genji Shimada. Hana leaped to her feet, barely able to contain her excitement at finally meeting her long anticipated arrivals. Lady Olivia, who was perfectly able to contain hers, rose more gracefully and both young ladies gave their guests a low curtsey in greeting.

“Lord Shimada,” Lady Hana beamed, as the brothers took their seats. “I cannot tell you how very pleased I am to meet you and your brother. I have been telling Lady Olivia how my father and your father, the late Lord Shimada were such friends and how highly papa speaks of you.”

“You are too kind, Lady Hana,” Lord Shimada replied, with a bow of his head. “Lady Olivia, I am honored to make your acquaintance, as well.”

“How have you been finding our sleepy little shire, Lord Shimada?” Lady Olivia inquired.

“I find the countryside very beautiful,” Hanzo said. “As for the shire, I have not been much in it yet. But if Lord Song is to be believed, it is the best in England.”

“Oh, it really is,” Lady Hana enthused. “It can get a bit dull at times being so far from Bath and Brighton, but everyone is so lovely and there are ever so many picnics and garden parties and boating parties and balls. And of course, during the hunting season, there is no better land to ride to hounds.”

“And you, Master Genji,” Lady Olivia said, turning her pretty smile on the younger brother. “Do you think you will like living here?”

“I think I shall like it very much,” Genji grinned. “Mr. McCree tells me there are many fascinating varieties of plants and animals to be found in the local forests.”

“Ah, you have already met the Duke’s man?” Lady Olivia said, with a twinkle in her eye. “Tell me, what do you think of our famous American?”

“My brother has not met him, but I like him,” Genji said. “We had lunch together yesterday. He is very clever and his American manners are quite charming.”

“Then I think I shall like you, Master Genji,” Lady Olivia smiled. “Mr. McCree is a dear friend of mine and I judge all my new acquaintances based upon their opinion of him.”

“Oh, she is only joking,” Lady Hana interjected. “But we do like Mr. McCree. It is unfortunate that he isn’t a gentleman. I should like so much to see him well married.”

“I do not think that he will be prevented from marrying well, simply because he cannot marry a titled heiress, Hana,” Lady Olivia said. “But let us leave Mr. McCree’s romantic prospects to another time. Lord Shimada, I have a confession to make. I am afraid you are the victim of an ambush. I came this morning hoping you would call so that I might assail you regarding the hunting. I do hope you intend to keep it up.”

“Indeed, I shall have to be more vigilant in the future,” Hanzo said, with an arch smile. “But what is the hunting to which you refer?”

Thus followed a complete (and rather too lengthy) explanation of fox hunting, the type of land required to attract and foster foxes, the methods by which land owners might accommodate the hunters and their hounds, the vital importance of this tradition to the very fabric of English society. This all wrapped up in a gentle suggestion that as a land owner with foxes on his property, Lord Shimada was bound by honor to maintain the furry pests for the benefit of his neighbors.

“I see,” Hanzo said slowly, after Lady Olivia had delivered her peroration and paused to take a breath. “And this fox hunting is important to you, Lady Olivia?”

“Oh yes, it is, Lord Shimada,” Lady Hana answered for her friend. “Livvie loves it so dearly.”

“I suppose then, that I have no choice but to keep up the fox hunting,” Hanzo said, dipping his head graciously. “But only because it pleases Lady Olivia. For my own recreation, I would much prefer to keep grouse.”

Seeing the joke at last, Lady Olivia laughed merrily and thanked him for his patience in allowing her to lecture him in his own school. She decided that she rather liked this Japanese lord. After that, the Shimadas took their polite leave, and Ladies Olivia and Hana went out walking to escape he stuffiness indoors and take some fresh air.

“So, what did you think of your Japanese lord, conejita,” Lady Olivia asked, as they strolled along in the cool shade of the oak trees. “Was he as interesting as you hoped?”

“I think so,” Lady Hana said. “He is very clever, and he clearly knows all about English society and customs. I think he will be well liked here.”

“He certainly is beautiful, isn’t he? I have never seen so fine a face on a gentleman.”

“He is beautiful. They are both handsome, but the Lord particularly.”

“You did not find Master Genji particularly handsome as well?” Lady Olivia asked slyly.

“I—I didn’t really notice,” Lady Hana said, coloring like a rose. “He seemed amiable and well-mannered.”

“Ah, yes. He did seem very amiable and well-mannered. And of course, that is what you noticed, and not the fact that he is built like a Greek statue.”

“Olivia!” Hana exclaimed, flushing even pinker. “I would never… _notice_ how a gentleman is—what are you suggesting?”

“Nothing, my dear,” Olivia laughed, hooking her arm about Hana’s waist. “I am sorry for teasing you. I am feeling rather bold after my victory concerning the hunting and I let my tongue run loose. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course I will,” Hana said, kissing her friend’s cheek in token of reconciliation. “Only no more teasing me about gentlemen.”

“I promise.”

“Good, because I would like to speak of our soirée. It is in a little over a month and we have yet to finish the guest list. Will you help me with it today?”

“Of course, conejita,” Lady Olivia said, with another sweet laugh. “Time is simply slipping away.”

“There is one thing, however,” Hana said, hesitating. “My mother insists that I invite Lady Lacroix.”

Lady Olivia made a face as if she had tasted something bitter. “I suppose we have no choice, then. But I will not speak to her. That woman is as poisonous as a spider and twice as crafty.”

 

 

Mr. McCree arrived at Cherrywood the following afternoon to find a smart, black carriage standing before the door of the house. He wondered vaguely if the Lord Shimada had a visitor as he knocked at the front door. Almost instantly, the door flew open and Genji practically bounded out, dressed in English gentleman’s day wear, and carrying a leather satchel with his books, pencils and other odds and ends.

“Jesse, you are here!” he exclaimed, as if his friend had appeared out of thin air. “The weather is so fine today. It will be perfect for our investigation, will it not?”

“Afternoon, Genji,” Jesse said, smiling agreeably. “Yes it will. You all ready to go?”

“Hanzo will be down in a moment and we will take the carriage.”

“Hanzo?” Jesse asked. “Take the carriage where?”

“Oh, my brother intends to call upon the Duke, so we will all take the carriage to Blackthorne together. But do not worry, we can walk back later. We need not hurry our business.”

“Is the Duke expectin’ him?”

“Yes. He sent a message by servant yesterday and the Duke replied by the evening post.”

“Alright, then,” Jesse smiled. “More the merrier, as they say.” 

At that moment, Genji’s brother, the Lord Shimada, emerged from the house. Mr. McCree turned toward him and his usual self-possession nearly deserted him. He found himself looking at a young man, apparently not much older than Genji, with fine, symmetrical features, a strong, aristocratic nose and brow, and long, silky black hair, worn in a braid down his back. He was extraordinarily lovely to look upon. The most beautiful man Jesse had ever seen, as he thought to himself later, though maybe a bit too fine and proud. What was most peculiar to Jesse, was that the exquisite young lord had stopped in his tracks and was staring directly back at him. For a space of five or six heartbeats, Jesse stood frozen, unable to move or even breathe.

“Brother, there you are!” Genji called out merrily, breaking the spell. “Jesse, this is my brother, the Lord Shimada. Or Master Shimada, if you prefer. I am uncertain which term is in fashion with the English.”

Jesse, finding himself once again in control of his limbs, stepped forward and bowed respectfully.

“Lord Shimada,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

The young lord returned the bow stiffly. “Likewise, Mr. McCree. I understand that you are the Duke’s steward.”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“I believe he made mention of you in one of his letters,” Lord Shimada said, eyeing him intently. “My brother Genji speaks very highly of you.”

“I’m honored by his high opinion,” Jesse replied, with another bow. “Shall we go?”

The three young men climbed into the carriage and started off toward Blackthorne, Genji chatting blithely away, seemingly oblivious to the strange tension between his brother and his American friend. Jesse, finding that he could not stop looking at the Lord Shimada once he had started, kept his eyes fixed doggedly on the scenery around them, praying that the carriage driver would speed up and his discomfiture would be at an end.

Hanzo, finding that he wished very much that Mr. McCree would speak to him and rather wounded that he did not, became silent and icy. After a harrowing half an hour (the harrowing nature of which, Genji was entirely unaware) the carriage arrived at the Blackthorne manor house. Mr. McCree hopped out and genteelly held the door open for his guests, bowed as politely as he could to Lord Shimada, and escaped with Genji in the direction of the woods.

“What do you think Lord Shimada has to talk with the Duke about?” Jesse asked Genji, as they picked their way through the bushes and shrubs at the treeline.

“My brother is in need of a steward to oversee the Cherrywood property,” Genji replied, stepping over a fallen branch. “The Duke recommended a man to him, and he wished to see him about it.”

“That’s kind of the Duke,” Mr. McCree said. “I didn’t know he and Lord Shimada knew each other.”

“The Duke had business dealings with our father for many years. Their acquaintance had fallen away in recent years, but Hanzo thought it would be courteous to inform the Duke that we would be neighbors, and they renewed the connection through correspondence.”

“Ah, I see. Here’s the spot, here. See those little hedges? There’s a whole mess of birds and even some rabbits live in there.”

“Jesse,” Genji said, as they stopped to look about for a good vantage point, “is it customary for an English manor to employ two stewards, such as yourself, to look after things?”

“Naw, I don’t think so,” Jesse laughed. “That’d be like havin’ two head chefs in a kitchen. It’d make more trouble than it saved. Why do you ask?”

“I only asked from curiosity,” Genji said, with a pang of guilt, as this was not strictly true. “I am unfamiliar with English custom in this matter.”

Despite Mr. McCree’s agitation over the beautiful Shimada nobleman and Genji’s growing concern that Mr. McCree was being treated poorly by his master, the two young men managed to pass an enjoyable few hours in the Blackthorne woods. Genji collected a multitude of new leaf specimens, sketched several interesting trees, and made notes regarding the various birds he saw and heard flitting about the place.

Jesse thought he had better report his whereabouts to the Duke before walking back to Cherrywood with his friend, so Genji waited in the drawing room while Jesse went to the Duke’s study. Finding the door open, he stepped in and waited to be addressed, as was his custom with his master. After a moment, the Duke looked up from his writing and beckoned to him.

“Jesse,” he said. “There you are. I wish to speak to you about something. Please, shut the door.”

Jesse shut the door quietly, then approached the mahogany desk and stood politely with his hands folded behind his back.

“What do you think of the Shimadas?” the Duke asked.

“What do I think of ‘em?” Jesse said, somewhat bewildered by the question. “They…seem like fine gentlemen, sir.”

“Good. I am glad you think well of them,” the Duke said. He folded the paper upon which he’d been writing and placed it in an envelope. “I am closing down Blackthorne for a season or two. I did not wish to leave you without a home or employment, so I have arranged with Lord Shimada that you should take over as steward at Cherrywood. The terms and duties are to remain the same as they have been here, and you are free to quit his employ at any time. I hope you will not do so, since he is a friend of mine, but it is entirely your decision.”

The Duke held out the envelope he had just sealed to Mr. McCree, who took it, not knowing what else to do.

“That is your wages for the next month, in addition to some excess, to cover anything you must purchase due to the change in your employment. You are, of course, still free to access the Blackthorne property just as you normally would, until I vacate it next Sunday. That will give you time to transfer your personal belongings and close any open business you have. Do you have any questions?”

Jesse stood staring numbly at the envelope in his hand, unable speak. He had many, many questions. A million questions. But he had no voice to ask them, so he simply shook his head, keeping his eyes on the piece of paper.

“I…hope you don’t feel this is due to any fault in yourself, Jesse,” the Duke said, in a softer tone. “You have always been indispensable to me.”

Jesse nodded dumbly in response. Gathering his courage, he looked up into the Duke’s dark eyes. “When…uh, when am I…expected to begin at Cherrywood, sir?”

“Tomorrow. I am sorry to give you a jolt like this,” the Duke said. “I cannot explain my reasons at the moment, but it is for the best.”

“I see. Thank…thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me. The carriage is waiting to take you and young master Genji back to Cherrywood, when you are ready. I…will miss you, Jesse.”

At this, Jesse turned and exited the study without waiting to be dismissed or saying goodbye. He had never done this in all the time he had been in the Duke’s employ. The Duke felt the sting of it, but he thought it better to let the boy go this way, rather than have further explanation with him, which would undoubtedly lead to a more bitter confrontation.

In the drawing room, Jesse found that Genji had been served tea and biscuits and was browsing eagerly through the various old books on the shelves.

“Hey, Genji,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “The carriage is ready to go, if you are.”

“I am ready, Jesse,” Genji smiled. Then seeing the pallor of his friend’s complexion, he asked gravely, “What is the matter, Jesse? Are you ill?”

“I ain’t ill, no,” Jesse said, as they exited the room together. “Thank you for askin’. I’ll be alright.”

“You are not well, though, Jesse. Please tell me what is wrong. Perhaps I can help.”

Jesse climbed into the carriage beside his friend and they started off toward Cherrywood.

“I guess…I work for you now,” he said, failing to stop a tear rolling down his face. “The Duke sent…sent me away. Just like that.”

“Oh, Jesse,” Genji said, putting his arm around his friend. “Please do not be sad. It will not be so terrible. I promise. Hanzo seems haughty and stern, but he is really very kind.”

“I’m sure he is, Genji. But it ain’t that. You…you wouldn’t understand.”

“I am very sorry, Jesse. This is a very cruel thing for the Duke to do to you, whatever the reason. But…perhaps it will not be so bad to live with my brother and me. I will keep you company and we can go walking together and ride on hounds and all of those things.”

“I think you mean ride _to_ hounds, Genji,” Jesse said, breaking into a merry laugh, in spite of his tears. “They’re a mite small for ridin’ _on_.”

Jesse rode with Genji to Cherrywood, then took his horse home and spent his last night in his own room at Blackthorne, but he found no rest would come to him. Instead, he paced his room smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and musing upon his sorrows. His abrupt dismissal from the service of the Duke was a crushing blow and his grief weighed upon him heavily.

He had been as aware of the rumors regarding his paternity as anyone, and though he knew them to be utterly false, he had believed that the Duke at least possessed some clue to his actual parentage, and would one day reveal it to him. In a word, Jesse wanted desperately to know who he was, and the Duke was the only man who might be able to tell him. To be thrown off so suddenly and without explanation, after the Duke had brought him across the sea and given him hope and even asked him to stay, amounted to the shattering of Jesse’s dream: to one day reunite with any living relations that he could find and to finally know his place in this world.

As it was, he had never had a family to call his own. He had never known any mother but Okanese, a Comanche chief’s daughter, who had found him abandoned on the road as an infant. She brought him to her tribe and told them how she had thought the poor, pallid little thing was dead. Her heart had been touched with pity and she had taken his tiny body in her arms, intending to bury it. As she did this, however, he began to cry. Not a feeble, sickly mewl, but a big, lusty cry from healthy lungs.

The wise women of the tribe said that the spirits had led her to this child because he was strong and would grow up to be a warrior. It must be his fate to survive. The chiefs agreed, and so Okanese took the infant in to raise him as her own until he came of age. She named him Jesse, a biblical name she had heard from a white missionary and liked. The Comanche people were not at all timid of epithets for one another, however, and by way of a pet name he was usually called “the ugly one,” or “naked mule” when had been more awkward and ungainly than usual.

Otherwise, he was treated no differently from the other boys of the tribe, with whom he enjoyed brotherly camaraderie. He spent his days in the customary occupations of boys, following the men about and learning the arts of hunting, tracking, horsemanship, and the making of weapons and of war. Jesse lived fifteen contented years in this way. Then, on the day of his coming of age, he was required by the tribe’s two chiefs to make a choice. Either leave the tribe and return to his own people, or undergo the ritual of the warrior, take a Comanche name, and pledge himself to the tribe forever.

Okanese had then risen to stand beside him before the chiefs. She took his hand and kissed him, and bid him go. He would never find his spirit’s true home, she said, if he did not return to his own people and seek his path among them. His young heart had broken inside his body at the thought of being separated from his only mother, and he wept. But he did as she commanded, and took his leave of the only home he had ever known.

When he was prepared to go, they gave him a horse and good weapons and food, and many gifts besides, and called him a friend of the tribe for all time. But he was no longer a brother. He felt this loss bitterly as he wandered alone and homeless for many days, with none but his horse and the stars for companionship. One ray of hope, however, shone in his black despair. Before he departed, Okanese had called him to her hut and given him the greatest gift he had received that day. She told him to seek a white man called the Reverend John Patrick Morrison, an Anglican minister who sometimes visited as a missionary from England, and was respected by the tribe for his bravery and honesty. This man, she said, held a clue to the circumstances of Jesse’s birth.

Armed with his courage, his wits, and this name, Jesse made his way in wilds of the American southwest, hiring himself out as a tracker and guide. Because of his exceeding skill in the arts and his friendship with the Comanche, he became widely known as the only man to see if one sought safe passage through the territory. He was hired to escort stage coaches and caravans and often even lawmen and Army officers.

Among these white men, it was customary to have a surname, so Jesse simply adopted one he had heard used by a cattle rancher, and called himself Jesse McCree. For ten years, this was his manner of life, and though he was very good at it and often enjoyed it, he thought always of Okanese and her final words to him. He questioned all those he escorted and inquired after the Reverend Morrison at every stop and station, but no one he met had any news of him.

Then one day, he was hired by the agent of a wealthy nobleman who was traveling up to the California territory from Mexico, on some business or another. It was the beginning of a cold winter, and the nobleman remained mostly inside the huge, black coach with the shutters drawn. During the first two days, Jesse had only caught two brief glimpses of him, at night when they stopped to rest and eat. On the third evening, they stopped to make camp for the night and he helped build the fire, as usual. The nobleman left the coach and strode out into the darkness on his own, as was his habit. Jesse had insisted that his men tell him this was foolish and dangerous, but they said that he would not be deterred, and besides, he had been in this land many times and knew it well.

When they had eaten, Jesse lingered in conversation with the man’s servants and bodyguards for some time, enjoying their lively, English way of speaking and finding them far more agreeable than the usual filthy, ignorant stage hands with whom he was accustomed to interact. He brought up the question of the Reverend Morrison, as he always did, and was met with the same disappointment.

As he lay dozing in his bedroll late that night, however, one of the servants awakened him and informed him that the master would like to have a word with him, would he be so kind as to join him in the coach. Jesse shook himself awake and climbed irritably into the coach to speak with this eccentric aristocrat. He found himself dumbstruck, however, in the nobleman’s actual presence.

Despite the heavy black cloak in which he was wrapped up from head to foot, he was obviously muscular, broad-shouldered and tall. He was dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and wore his waves of long black hair loose about his shoulders. More striking than his imposing appearance, however, was the aura of command that seemed to hang in the air about him. Jesse had never laid eyes on a man whose entire being radiated power in that way. For a long moment, the mysterious nobleman gazed at Jesse in silence. Then he inquired courteously after his name and asked about his life and occupation.

Jesse was bewildered by his client’s sudden interest in him, but he answered as best he could and tried not to stare at the man’s handsome but heavily scarred face. Gradually the man revealed his purpose. He had heard that Jesse had been inquiring after someone, would he please remind him of the name? Ah yes, the Reverend John Patrick Morrison, that was it. And how was it that Jesse had come to hear of this man?

Jesse gazed undaunted into the man’s formidable eyes and told him the whole, unvarnished truth of himself. His origin as a foundling, of Okanese and the tribe, and of her benediction to him to go out and seek this white man, who may hold a clue to the identities of his long lost parents. The man fell silent again and appeared to be in some deep torment of spirit for some time, and Jesse began to fear that he may be dealing with a madman.

However, the man came to himself and begged his pardon for his long silence. He explained, to Jesse’s utter amazement, that this very reverend Morrison was not only known to him, but was in actual fact, the resident parish clergyman at the Blackthorne parsonage near his home in England. He offered then and there to take Jesse across the sea to meet this man. Jesse was dumbfounded and more than a little dubious, but his deep hunger to find his family was an ever-growing ache in his soul and he was willing to grasp at anything that might lead him to them. He was, however, chary of accepting the company of such a strange man for such a long voyage.

He said that he reckoned a journey like that would cost a pretty penny, and that if the man would only give him the Reverend’s address and things, he would find someone who knew their letters and get them to write to him. But the man was not to be denied and Jesse eventually found his will overborne. He agreed at last to go with him, but only on the stipulation that the cost of Jesse’s passage be considered payment for his services as a guide, and not be given to him out of charity. The man agreed to this and shook Jesse’s hand, formally introducing himself as Lord Reyes, Duke of Blackthorne.

Jesse’s passage to the old world from the new was a harrowing and confusing ordeal of being made to wash and shave and cut his long hair, giving up his supple, beautiful buckskin garments and donning the coarse, ugly, black clothing of the city people, being interminably instructed in how he was to behave in every situation, and herded like a longhorn steer onto an enormous seagoing beast they called an ocean liner.

They boarded at night, as the Duke seemed to do everything, and Jesse spent the first three days of the voyage confined to his cabin, believing himself to be actually dying of seasickness. On the fourth day he was able to drink broth and tea, and (assisted by a good amount of whiskey) to move about his cabin. On the fifth day he was well enough to join the Duke for breakfast in his large and luxurious stateroom. After breakfast, he followed the Duke to the leisure deck to smoke a cigar.

Then Jesse saw the sea. At once, he knew what his spirit had sought all this time. Afterward, in his years with the Duke, he would make frequent journeys to any place he heard was good for lovers of the ocean, and take as many excursions aboard seagoing vessels as he could. The love of the sea was born full-grown and all at once in Jesse’s heart and remained with him ever after.

The rest of the journey to England was spent in educating Jesse on civil conduct and gentlemanly behavior, and in rigorous drill regarding the forms of address for each rank of society and etiquette for every possible situation. Despite his wild upbringing and lack of education, Jesse was extraordinarily intelligent. His quick mind absorbed all he learned and kept it ready to access, and he progressed with astonishing speed. Though his manner became more relaxed as time went on, when Jesse first stepped off the ship in London, the only thing to distinguish him from any young English nobleman was his American accent.

At long last, the Duke had taken Jesse to see this Reverend Morrison. He unfolded his tale, to the Reverend’s increasing astonishment, and told him of Okanese’s final words to him. That the clue to his parentage was held by the Reverend himself, who had been in the territory as a missionary some years before. The Reverend confirmed that he had indeed been in the territory at that time, but he was at a loss to explain why Okanese had believed he had any information that would help Jesse. He had known of no infants that had been lost, nor of any of his congregation that had gone missing without explanation. He said, however, that he would seek through his journals from that period and bring Jesse anything that might be of help to his search.

Jesse departed the Reverend’s presence crushed. He had waited so long and traveled so far to find only more emptiness; his only hope evaporating before him like a wisp of vapor in sun. He would have given himself up to utter despair, had the Duke not taken pity on his distress and made him an offer.

“Stay a while and work for me here,” he had said. “You may quit my service and depart any time you like, but the Reverend may yet find something that will jog his memory and you should not give up hope.”

So Jesse had agreed to stay on as the Duke’s steward and had altered his entire mode of living completely in service of this hope. One Sunday, a month into his sojourn at Blackthorne, the Reverend Morrison approached Jesse after church (which the Duke did not attend) and asked him to speak with him a moment in the vestry. He told Jesse that for reasons he was not at liberty to reveal, he had not been entirely honest with him, but that it had weighed terribly on his soul and must unburden himself of the lie. He said that the details were not his to transmit, but that the man Jesse should look to for a clue to his parentage was not himself, but the Duke.

Jesse begged him to elaborate on this but the Reverend was adamant. The Duke was the sole proprietor of this information, and only he could choose to reveal it or not, which he would or would not do in his own time and the manner of his choosing. At this, Jesse felt hope dawning anew in his weary heart. He had not pressed the matter with the the Duke, having been warned against this by the Reverend, but he had every day hoped to be given some scrap of information by which to continue his search.

He returned to his work with renewed energy and interest. He found the Duke to be a stern but just master, if a bit unpredictable at times. The Duke never allowed Jesse to become familiar with him, nor to dine or smoke with him, but he treated Jesse respectfully and the two developed a comfortable rapport. He learned quickly, though, that the Duke was not a man with whom anything like friendship could be established.

His grace preferred to be alone, kept little company at home, and would disappear for long stretches of time without warning. But Jesse would always receive a letter from the Duke within a day or so of these disappearances, explaining his master’s location and sometimes the nature of the business that had called him away. The Duke was strict regarding Jesse’s appearance and cleanliness, punctuality, and perfect accuracy in the books and in Jesse’s reports to him. Otherwise, Jesse was left almost entirely at his own will, seeing to his master’s affairs as he thought best and reporting to him when he was at home.

Thus Jesse had passed nearly five years, working diligently and with tireless energy in the Duke’s service, and hoping to one day receive the knowledge he sought. And now his long labor and waiting had been rewarded with…nothing. A month’s wages and a cold apology before he was tossed like a castoff garment into the service of another master. He entertained serious thoughts of leaving that night, taking his horse from the Duke’s stable, and riding out to make his fortune alone, as he had when he left Okanese and the Comanche tribe.

But he had agreed already. And the Lord Shimada would expect him to honor this agreement. The image of that exquisite, ivory-skinned boy rose before Jesse in his mind’s eye, like a new sun dawning above a broad, green country. Perhaps…perhaps he should stay after all, if only to see if it suited him. It would hurt Genji, after all, if he were to depart without saying goodbye.

 

 

As it turned out, the transition to Cherrywood was much easier than Jesse had expected. This was due chiefly to the constant, cheerful companionship of his young friend, and the deference shown to him by the master of the house regarding any matter having to do with the property. Over the following month, he was often in the company of the young lord, who sought his opinion on nearly every household decision. He quickly found himself almost feeling like an equal, rather than a hired hand. In fact, he was absolutely treated as a gentleman when no company was present, dining with the brothers, smoking with them in the drawing room in the evening, and spending long hours studying their language and learning of their homeland’s history and culture from Genji, who was an inexhaustible source of this kind of information.

The Ladies Hana and Olivia, finding the situation at Cherrywood irresistible, became frequent visitors to the Shimada brothers and over the passing weeks, the five young people were nearly never seen out of each other’s company. This excluded, of course, social functions at which Jesse’s presence was not permitted, as he was still only a commoner and a hired servant, albeit a very respected one. It was during this time that Lady Hana began to develop one of her little schemes to increase the happiness of her male friends by marrying them off to respectable heiresses.

The most eligible of her male friends, of course, was the Lord Shimada, so it naturally followed that he must be most in need of a wife. Lady Hana resolved to get him a good one. First in her plan of attack was to convince the Shimadas to throw a ball or soirée of some kind at Cherrywood. Through wheedling Genji, she discovered that the date of Lord Shimada’s birth was approaching. This was an opportunity too perfect to pass up. Even if it meant sacrificing her own soirée (the planning of which she had grown rather bored anyway) to ensure her scheme’s success.

By the passing of notes in an absurdly mysterious manner, she was able to gather her other three friends in private conclave while the Lord Shimada was occupied elsewhere. Meaning that they came to lunch at her home. After the tea and sandwiches were served, she unfolded her plan. The four friends would surprise Lord Shimada with a spectacular birthday party at Cherrywood. This was received with better grace than she had expected, and she was delighted to find her friends so agreeable. She did, of course, leave out the small detail that the goal was to select a bride for Lord Shimada, since she knew Olivia would laugh at her and Mr. McCree would probably tell Lord Shimada and spoil the whole thing.

“How are we gonna get the Lord Shimada out of the house to set up a huge party?” Mr. McCree wanted to know.

That had been thought of. Master Genji would convince him to travel to Brighton for a week or so to take the sea air. As the steward, Mr. McCree had charge of any furnishings and accoutrement entering or leaving the house, as well as authority over all the servants, so he wouldn’t be questioned.

“But my dear conejita,” Lady Olivia protested. “That is the same week as your soirée. No one will come to both.”

That was the best part. The invitations had yet to be sent out. All that they had to do was use Lady Hana’s guest list, change the location to Cherrywood, change the date to the seventh, rather than the fifth, and the party would be a smashing success.

After some small debate and the sorting out of many details, Genji, Olivia, and Jesse agreed that Lady Hana’s welcome and birthday soirée for Lord Shimada was a lovely gesture and would bring some much-needed excitement and gaiety to the sleepy little shire. Finding her friends in support, Lady Hana moved ahead with her plan, working into the small hours of the evening editing her guest list to include nearly every marriageable young lady from a good family in England, coordinating seating arrangements, choosing a menu, learning that the Shimadas did not enjoy Italian cuisine and changing the menu, and deciding who would take who down to dinner (the most important and nerve-wracking aspect of the entire thing).

The invitations had been completed and duly sent out, when Lady Hana was dealt a heavy shock. The Reverend Morrison had suddenly quit his position as rector of Blackthorne Parsonage, and no one seemed to know where he had gone.

“This is dreadful news,” she told Olivia that afternoon. “I simply know that horrible old Duke has gone and murdered him.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Lady Olivia replied patiently. “Men who are about to be murdered don’t tender a resignation to the diocese in advance.”

“But why would he simply disappear that way? He is the most popular clergyman in the county. Everyone loves him!”

“Perhaps he had his own reasons that had nothing to do with popularity.”

“You don’t think…you don’t think he’s _dissented_ , do you?” Lady Hana whispered, clutching her bosom in fright. “I don’t think my heart could take such a shock.”

“Your heart will be just fine, my darling. If the Reverend has dissented, then that is a matter of conscience and we have no right to interfere. We do not know what is in his mind.”

“But he gives such lovely, short sermons,” Lady Hana sighed, collapsing onto the divan. “And he was supposed to take Lady Lacroix down to dinner. Now who can I assign to her? He was the only gentleman safe from her scheming.”

Lady Hana, of course, failed to see the irony in accusing Lady Lacroix of scheming while actively engaged on carrying out her own elaborate scheme. But perhaps we can forgive her this small foible, since her heart was in the right place, if her head was not.

“Send her down with me,” Lady Olivia said slyly. “I’ll see to it she minds her manners.”

“Oh, Livvie, you wouldn’t. You must promise to be civil to her. I know she’s dreadful, but I won’t have Lord Shimada’s party spoiled by a row.”

“Of course I will be civil, conejita. But you can’t send her down with no escort at all, or there will be a row. You had better arrange something quickly.”

“I suppose I could invite the new rector, and he could walk her down. But I don’t know him and I don’t want him dampening everyone’s spirits at the party if he is disagreeable.”

“Well, have Lord Reinhardt walk her down and I will go down with a servant. I am not going to be offended.”

“Olivia, are you mad?” Hana said, manifesting the deepest distress. “You outrank her by two levels of peerage. Can you imagine what people would say?”

“I know what to do, then. Send her down with Lord Reinhardt. I will walk down with Mr. McCree.”

“But…Livvie…” Lady Hana began, then trailed off, reluctant to renew the argument.

She was in a very awkward position. Mr. McCree was included in the dance and party, but had not been included in the formal dinner, since he was technically a servant employed by the house, and the other guests would be shocked. Lady Olivia, however, had been most vocal in her disgust with this decision, and had opposed even Mr. McCree when he insisted he was not insulted by it.

“My darling Hana,” Lady Olivia said quietly. “I have never advised you ill before. You must trust me. Invite Mr. McCree to the dinner, as well as the party. You will not regret it.”

“But Livvie, I am always doing the wrong thing and mixing people badly. What if people are offended and leave?”

“I do not think they will be. But you have a choice. Either go to Lady Lacroix and uninvite her, which will certainly scandalize everyone, or invite Mr. McCree.”

“I…I suppose you are right,” Lady Hana said hesitantly. “I adore Mr. McCree, I truly do. But I can’t bear the thought of another disaster like I had with that singer and the Count of Volskaya.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Lady Olivia laughed. “Mr. McCree is a man of good standing in the community, not a diva with a colorful past. You are very good and you know this is the right thing to do.”

“I will then,” Lady Hana said, finding herself feeling much lighter and happier now that the decision was made. “I will ask him tomorrow.”

 

 

“You are certain you will not accompany us, then?” the Lord Shimada inquired, as his steward stepped round the back of the carriage and knelt to inspect the axle.

“I’m afraid not, my lord,” Jesse replied. Satisfied that the axle had been repaired as he ordered, he stood and drew out his handkerchief to wipe the dust from his hands. “I got a whole line of new fence goin’ up along the west pasture, and if I don’t keep them fellas at it, they won’t be finished before the new stock come in.”

“Ah, indeed,” Lord Shimada said, nodding graciously. “You are always most diligent in your labor, Mr. McCree. I feared, perhaps, that there might be…another cause.”

“What would that be, my lord?” Jesse asked, looking keenly into his master’s face.

“You know to what I allude, Jesse,” Lord Shimada said, looking away toward the tree-shaded avenue. “But I assure you that there will be no repetition of…I mean to say that I would not insult you by pressing you in a matter of such significance.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Hanzo,” Jesse said, (in a much more familiar tone than one would have strictly expected a hired man to use when addressing his master). “And thank you for bein’ patient with me. But the fact is, I’m your servant and you gotta allow me to serve you as best I can. If I ain’t doin’ that, then you keepin’ me on is charity, and that _would_ be an insult to me.”

The young lord’s brow furrowed. “You need not be my servant, if you do not wish it.”

“Do you mean to dismiss me, master?”

“Only when you ask to be dismissed.”

Mr. McCree smiled. “I wish you a pleasant journey and a safe return, my lord. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and see that young master Genji’s luggage has been prepared.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” Lord Shimada said, bowing courteously. “I shall see you in two weeks, then. Farewell.”

With a bow and a tip of his black hat, Jesse turned and strode briskly into the house. When he had seen to the final travel preparations for his two young masters, he bid farewell to Genji in his room and did not come out to see them off. He went instead to his own desk in the Master’s study, where the windows had been flung wide to admit the afternoon breeze, and sat listening till the clop of the horses’ hooves had faded off down the road. Then he jumped up, took his hat, and hurried to the stable. His darling black mare, Sombra (a gift from the Duke), was saddled and waiting for him in the care of a groom.

“I’ll be back here in three hours, Yuki,” he said to the young man, as he stepped into the stirrup. “Run and tell Mr. Otanaki that the kitchen staff can get started clearing room in the wine cellar. The fellas will be here with the cart before I come back, so he’ll have to let ‘em in.”

The boy bowed and ran along on his errand, then Jesse spoke a word to Sombra and clicked his tongue, and she carried him off in the direction of town. Perhaps an hour later, having concluded his business at the Amari Importing and Dry Goods Company warehouse, he was passing down the street on his way call on Lady Hana. He caught sight of a pale-skinned, black-haired and exceedingly beautiful young lady in a dress of deep-purple silk, who was strolling up the street toward him.

The young lady was walking in the company of her very tall, very thin, very red-haired ladies’ maid, who held a little black parasol above her lovely mistress’ head to shield her from the bright sun. Jesse cast his eyes about him, but he knew there was no possibility of avoiding the pair without turning off the road into a hedgerow, and so he grit his teeth and continued toward them. He hoped, since he was on horseback, that he might escape conversation with the young lady in question, but as he drew near, his hopes were dashed. The young lady hailed him and stopped, so he had no choice but to stop, as well. But he remained mounted on his horse.

“Lady Lacroix,” he said, tipping his hat genteelly. “I hope today finds you well.”

“Ha! As well as one can be in this miserable country,” the young lady said, with a lilting French accent and a sullen little pout. “It is so very dull here, Jesse. How do you not die of boredom?”

“I keep very busy at Cherrywood, my lady,” Jesse said, maintaining his cordial tone admirably.

“Ah, oui! You have been in the service of the Lord Shimada ever since the unfortunate business with his grace, have you not?”

“I don’t know what you mean by unfortunate business with the Duke, my lady. But yes, I am in the service of the Lord Shimada.”

“Oh, I must have misunderstood. I am so silly sometimes,” Lady Lacroix replied carelessly. “I had heard that my cousin dismissed you rather unceremoniously, and that was the reason for your transfer to Cherrywood.”

Jesse’s cheeks burned. He swallowed the angry response that rushed to his lips, and smiled politely. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but my new master is very particular about punctuality. I really must go.”

“But of course,” she said, with a somewhat less polite smile. “Give Lord Shimada my best. And tell him how very much I am looking forward to his upcoming fête.”

Jesse tipped his hat, touched up Sombra with his heels, and trotted swiftly away. The Lady Lacroix cast a glance after him and then went on up the road.

“He is rather proud isn’t he, my lady,” her ladies’ maid said, in a dusky Irish brogue. “For a hired serving man, I mean.”

“He is rather proud for a gilded peacock,” Lady Lacroix sniffed. “He was always so. And his rough American manners are a horror. I do not know why his grace tolerated his presence for so long at Blackthorne.”

“He is a very handsome and healthy young man,” her maid posited. “I’d not be overly surprised to hear that had some sway in his favor with the Duke.”

“You forget yourself, Molly,” Lady Lacroix snapped, narrowing her hazel-green eyes to slits. “The Duke is my cousin and a peer of the realm. If his name is blackened, mine will go down with it. And you will go down with me.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Molly (whose proper name, Moira, the lady could not be taught to pronounce) replied, with an obsequious curtsey. “I misspoke. Forgive me.”

“It is nothing. Let us talk of it no more,” Lady Lacroix said. The two walked on in silence for a while. Then she began on Mr. McCree again. “Such nerve, I cannot believe. To remain on horseback in the presence of a lady who is on foot. He is the most insolent cur I have ever met.”

“Perhaps his new position will humble him, mum. I hear that the Lord Shimada is outrageously exacting and does not brook any kind of impertinence.”

“Perhaps it will. If it does not, I think I may undertake to pluck some of those proud feathers of his myself.”

“Indeed, mum,” the older woman said, chuckling spitefully. “May I ask what kind of plucking you have in mind?”

“I do not know, yet. But he cannot be always on his guard. One day, I will catch him in a tight place. And then…I shall strike.”

“I do hope that day comes soon, my lady. We wouldn’t want to have him still hanging about when you become mistress of Cherrywood.”

“No, we would certainly not,” Lady Lacroix said slowly. She drew out a black lace fan and tapped her palm with it. “The Shimada soirée may be just the opportunity we are looking for. Perhaps I can snare two swallows in the same net.”

Lady Lacroix, as one might gather from the preceding conversation, was the Duke’s cousin (by marriage), the widow of his late cousin, Lord Gérard, Viscount Lacroix. The Duke had maintained his acquaintance with Lady Lacroix and, from filial piety or some other reason unknown to any but himself, had also undertaken to procure for her a suitable husband of respectable rank and fortune. Whether he had intended for the Lord Shimada specifically to fill this honored position is unclear. He had mentioned at dinner one night with Lady Lacroix that his lordship was unmarried. She expressed interest in making his acquaintance, and the Duke had sent a letter of introduction.

Since the Lord Shimada’s arrival, the two had exchanged regular visits during one another’s “at home” hours and had been seen in company together at two autumn hunting parties. The Lady Lacroix, aware of her tenuous position in the English social order, in need of money to cover some pressing debts, and intending to maintain her lifestyle, come what may, decided that this wealthy foreign lord would be just the solution to the problems with which life had presented her.

The Duke, out of pity for her widowed state perhaps, had taken some responsibility for his cousin’s widow after his death. He saw to it that her house was well-supplied, her tenants rents were collected on time, her land did not fall into disrepair, and that she had a bit of discretionary money each month to use on leisure activities, entertaining, and to purchase whatever things ladies seem always to be so desperately in need of, though he had little idea why this should be (for the love of Rome, how many frocks can a lady need? Are they disposing of them after a single use?).

To say that the Duke saw to the maintenance of his cousin’s widow is to say that Jesse saw to it. As the Duke’s steward, he had the charge of Lady Lacroix’s rents and her house’s accounts with the butcher and baker and chandler and all such things. This may, in fact, have been the source of her distaste for her cousin’s young employee. Jesse, being a meticulous and trustworthy steward of his master’s affairs, had gone through her books and accounts each month just as he would have at Blackthorne.

He had noted several small discrepancies in the accounts and had brought them to the lady’s attention, being concerned that perhaps that some of her staff were dealing less than honestly with her. When he addressed her on the topic, she became confused at first. Then she said she had absolutely no head for such things and wouldn’t know a sixpence from a crown. Besides, her dear departed husband had always seen to such matters and furthermore, all of these numbers were giving her a headache, so if he would only see to it that the issue was corrected and not bother her with domestic drudgeries again, she would be very grateful. The interchange had ended cordially enough and Jesse never brought the matter to the Duke’s attention, but he saw to the accounts himself from then on, and she never forgot his interference in the matter.

 

 

The two weeks until the party flew by in a bustle of preparation and general excitement. The acceptance cards had flowed into the Song family home like a stream, until Lady Hana found that every invitation had been accepted. As it was well known that Lady Hana had invited nearly every pretty young lady in the county, the eligible young gentlemen had been particularly certain to keep their schedules clear for that evening, and the party promised to be a lively and handsomely populated event.

Dawn on the day of the soirée found Jesse already hard at work, seeing to last-minute details, wrangling an army of servants and cooks for the sumptuous dinner and festivities, and seeing that the luggage of the overnight guests (being sent ahead, as was customary) was received and delivered to the proper rooms. A message had arrived from Genji the previous night confirming that the brothers would arrive by the three-o’clock train and would be pulling up to the door of Cherrywood around four.

At noon, Ladies Hana and Olivia arrived to see that everything was in place and to help Jesse with one last little surprise the three had planned. The ladies were closeted with Jesse for nearly two hours, before departing in haste to go home and dress for the party. The conspirators had taken great care that the carriages be taken away and the dinner guests be brought into the drawing room before the Lord Shimada should arrive.

Thus, when the carriage pulled up to Cherrywood, there should have been nothing about the house to alert its master to the elaborate machinations that were taking place inside. However, as they pulled up before the door, Hanzo frowned and glanced about curiously. For a moment, Genji’s heart stopped, thinking that perhaps something had been left amiss.

“What is it, brother?” he inquired, as casually as possible. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing,” Hanzo said. “But…where is Mr. McCree? Was he not aware of the time of our return?”

“I do not know, brother,” Genji said, suppressing a smile of relief. “Perhaps he had some pressing business. There is Mt. Otanaki, now.”

The older servant came and greeted his masters, opening the carriage door and giving orders about their luggage, as Jesse usually did. Much to Genji’s consternation, when they entered the house, his brother made directly for the study, rather than upstairs to wash and dress for dinner. Genji followed, determined not to allow Hanzo to ruin the surprise by dallying.

“Brother,” he laughed, as the master opened the study door. “What are you doing? Will you not dress now?”

Hanzo stood for a moment gazing distractedly into the room. “Hm? Oh, yes. I will go up now. I was only seeking Mr. McCree. Would you please ask Mr. Otanaki to send him to me as soon as he can be found?”

“I will. Let us go up now, though. Dinner has been kept waiting.”

The Lord Shimada was not overly weary from his journey, but he was glad to be once again in his own room surrounded by his own things. He was troubled by Jesse’s absence and lingered dressing for nearly a half hour, hoping for the young man to knock at his door. At last he decided he had better go down. To his surprise, Genji was waiting at the top of the stairs rather than the drawing room, where he expected to find him.

“Ah, brother,” he said. “How kind of you to wait. Shall we go down directly?”

“Let us go to the drawing room first,” Genji replied. “I have found Jesse and he is waiting there for us.”

“Indeed?” Hanzo said, not quite understanding this odd behavior. “What is he doing there?”

Genji only shrugged and started down the stairs, so his brother followed, more mystified than ever. As Genji touched the handles of the double doors, he turned to Hanzo and grinned.

“Happy birthday, brother,” he said.

Then drawing room doors swung open to a sea of merry voices calling out “surprise” and “happy birthday” and the like. At the forefront of the glittering crowd stood Lady Hana and Lady Olivia beaming and clapping with delight. Genji leaned over and whispered into his stunned brother’s ear, and then the dazed expression on his face broke into a smile of appreciation and pleasure. Genji had been quickly explaining to his brother the European custom of honoring a friend on his birthday by coming into his home uninvited and surprising him with a dinner and a party. The Lord Shimada laughed heartily and embraced his dear friends and the assembled guests applauded and laughed as well, and everyone relaxed and fell to chatting affably with one another. The ice had been broken and the party so far was a success. Lady Hana had never been so pleased.

“My dear Lady Hana,” Hanzo said. “You are too kind. This is a lovely gesture and I am very grateful for all the trouble you must have taken to arrange it.”

“Oh, it was really no trouble at all,” Lady Hana smiled. “Not for me, at least. Mr. McCree has been the one doing all the real work, arranging this and that and having everything seen to. He really is a treasure of a man.”

“He really is,” Hanzo replied sincerely.

“Now, you are taking the Duchess of Marlborough down to dinner, so we must introduce you two as soon as we can.”

“The Duchess, yes,” Hanzo said distractedly. “But where is Jesse? I would wish to thank him.”

“Oh, have you not seen him?” Hana replied innocently. “He is here somewhere. Let us ask Olivia. There she is, there.”

Lord Shimada turned and looked in the direction his young friend indicated. Across the room, near a window, the Lady Olivia was in conversation with a young nobleman in a black dinner jacket, black tie, and crisp white shirt. Hanzo did not recognize him, but he was tall and handsome, with a fine, strong jaw, broad shoulders and dark brown hair, pulled back into a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Lady Olivia caught the Lord Shimada’s eye and smiled. At the same time her companion turned toward him and flashed a broad, roguish grin. Jesse. This fine, handsome, impeccably dressed young nobleman was Jesse. Hanzo stood blinking at him and attempting to calm the sudden fluttering in his stomach. Then he smiled and moved to join them.

He had taken no more than two steps toward his friends, when he was accosted by Lady Lacroix, who placed herself directly in his path and hooked her arm into his before he understood what was happening. She was indeed, a marvel to look upon. Her milky-white skin and black hair were displayed beautifully by a dress of crimson silk, with a matching ribbon drawn about her black curls. Most spectacularly, around her slender, graceful neck she wore an opulent necklace of large, glittering white diamonds with ruby accent stones.

“My dear lord Shimada,” she said, in a cloyingly playful tone. “You have not yet greeted all of your guests. What will people think?”

“Good evening, Lady Lacroix,” he replied cordially, kissing her black-gloved hand. “You look absolutely lovely this evening. I believe you know Lady Hana.”

“Good evening, Amélie,” Lady Hana said, with a brief curtsey.

“Good evening, Hana,” the former replied, returning the gesture in kind. “If you would allow me to steal away your friend for a moment, I will take him around to greet everyone.”

Lady Hana nodded her consent. With another glance across the room at Jesse, Lord Shimada allowed himself to be led away to perform this tedious hosting duty. Genji stepped up and offered Lady Hana his arm, and the two went to join Jesse and Lady Olivia near the window.

“I see the huntress is in fine form this evening,” Lady Olivia said, casting a disapproving glance on the Lady Lacroix.

“Poacher is more like,” Lady Hana pouted. “She just sailed in and took charge of him. I should have stopped her, but what could I do?”

“Nothing, my dear,” Lady Olivia laughed. “The Lord Shimada is perfectly able to take care of himself.”

“Oh, no,” Lady Hana said, raising her fan to hide her face. “She is taking him to meet the Duchess. I knew inviting that woman would be an unalloyed disaster. All my lovely plans spoiled.”

“The Duchess?” young master Genji inquired.

“All your lovely plans?” Lady Olivia asked, at the same time.

“The Duchess of Marlborough, Lady Angela Ziegler,” Lady Hana said, motioning tragically with her fan. “She is the extraordinarily eligible young widow of a highly esteemed Duke and now she will think that the Lord Shimada has some…attachment to Lady Lacroix.”

The young master followed his companion’s gaze across the crowded room to a tall, slender, graceful young woman with large, long-lashed blue eyes. She was beautiful, indeed. More than beautiful, he thought. Her white silk gown and the gold ribbon woven into her halo of pale-blonde curls possibly even elevated her to angelic.

“What’s it matter if she thinks the master has some kind of attachment to Lady Lacroix?” Jesse asked. “Lady Lacroix is a respected noblewoman.”

“What she means,” Olivia said, with a knowing smile, “is that the Duchess may think he is _romantically_ attached to Lady Lacroix and therefore my dear Hana’s little matchmaking scheme will be ruined. Is that not correct, conejita?”

Lady Hana blushed like a rose and hid her face behind her fan again. “I only meant that the Duchess would be…a very desirable connection to have in his acquaintance and that perhaps, if something more than friendship grew naturally on its own, then…all the better.”

Lady Olivia put a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow.

“Oh Livvie, don’t look like that,” Lady Hana said. “I confess. I was playing at matchmaking. But you all must agree with me that it would be such a good match! The Duchess is so lovely and agreeable and Lord Shimada is—”

“An unmarried gentleman of rank and fortune and thus, sorely in need of a wife?” Lady Olivia laughed. “My darling, you are very sweet to think of Lord Shimada’s happiness, but I think that if he wants a wife, it might be better to leave the choosing to him.”

Lady Hana had no time to reply to this, however, as dinner was called at that moment and the gentlemen began to find their partners. As the master of the house was expected to escort the lady of the highest rank, the Lord Shimada took the Duchess of Marlborough on his arm and led the party. Next in order of precedence was the Lady Olivia, Marchioness of Dorado.

Then Lady Hana’s heart nearly sank into her satin slippers. The lively chatter in the room died to a hushed murmur as the Lady Olivia stepped forward on the arm of Mr. McCree, the Lord Shimada’s steward. Despite the palpable reaction of the other guests, however, the Lady Olivia stood her ground and walked down to dinner with Mr. McCree, with her head held high and a graceful smile on her lovely face.

Young master Genji came next with the Lady Hana, then Lord Reinhardt of Wilhelm followed with Lady Lacroix, who made certain to wear a conspicuous expression of offended dignity. The remainder of the guests filed down and were seated, and the dinner commenced. In after years, Lady Hana would always feel deeply indebted to Lord Reinhardt, and the two formed a friendship that lasted till the end of the old lord’s life.

As Lord Reinhardt and the other gentlemen seated themselves, he lifted his majestic voice and called out in a jovial bellow, “Good evening, Jesse, my friend! It is good to see you again!”

Be it noted, Jesse was seated directly across the table from him and there was no need for such excessive volume, this was only the natural speaking register of the towering fortress of a man.

“I’m very well, my lord,” Jesse answered courteously. “I hope Lady Ana and Lady Fareeha are well.”

“Ah, indeed!” Lord Reinhardt boomed merrily. “They ask after you frequently! You must come to Wilhelm Abbey and visit again soon!”

This of course, accomplished two things. First, it put the other guests in mind that Lord Reinhardt had married a wealthy merchant’s daughter from the faraway land of Egypt, and her ladyship was accepted everywhere in society. Second and perhaps more importantly, the leonine lord’s hearty good nature was rather infectious, and seemed straightaway to put everyone more at ease. The guests fell to talking and complimenting the superb dishes, and even Lady Lacroix, so as not to seem disagreeable in the presence of her prospective betrothed, smiled and chatted with her neighbors. Lady Hana breathed a sigh of relief and was very nearly able to enjoy herself (though actually enjoying a dinner is never something a hostess expects).

The Lord Shimada spoke little, and showed his appreciation mainly in gracious smiles. By an admirable exercise of self-control, he kept his countenance benign and amiable and did not allow his eyes to stray too often to his handsome steward, who sat a few places down to his left, lest he betray what was passing in his mind. Because of this, he and Jesse exchanged no more than a word or two during the whole of the dinner.

As the ladies withdrew, a young lady was heard to remark on this, asking another young lady why the lord had been so cold to Mr. McCree. The second lady replied that some people were simply too old fashioned about such things, and a third put in that Mr. McCree would certainly not be so impolitely treated at her own soirée later this season. Lady Olivia heard all this with a sly smile, knowing that her objective was accomplished.

Lady Hana, though blissfully unaware of the fact, was the incontestable leader of taste when it came to the young and fashionable set. Lady Olivia had known that her inclusion of Mr. McCree at this dinner would make him a sought-after guest regardless of his station. As the ladies went down to rejoin the gentlemen for the dancing portion of the evening, Lady Olivia hooked her arm about Lady Hana’s waist and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“My darling, you have done splendidly,” she said. “The dinner was lovely, the guests are happy, and Lord Shimada cannot but feel thoroughly welcome in our little community.”

“Thank you so much, Olivia,” Lady Hana said, smiling wistfully. “Not all my plans are proceeding as I had hoped, but I suppose the evening could be called a success.” Then she paused. “Unless something dreadful happens and spoils the ball! You do not think it will, do you?”

“No, conejita. Nothing ever spoils a ball. When people are drinking champagne and dancing, they have no energy left to devote to being awkward and disagreeable. Now you have only to relax and enjoy yourself.”

Lady Hana squeezed her friend’s hand gratefully, then hurried off to greet the party guests, who had begun to arrive on foot and in carriages. The Cherrywood ballroom had been garlanded with gold and crimson flowers and hung with matching silk draperies for the occasion, and the merry company danced beneath the glittering chandeliers on a floor strewn with the petals of marigolds and chrysanthemums.

The star of the dance, of course, was the preternaturally graceful Lady Lacroix, who was well-known to be the best dancer in the county, and was resplendent in her red silk gown and lavish diamond necklace. Lady Hana and Olivia, too, had full dance cards the entire evening and barely time for a breath between waltzes and quadrilles. The Lady Hana did note, however, that young master Genji stood up to dance with the divine Duchess of Marlborough two separate times. As the evening drew to a close and the guests began to retire to their carriages, Lady Olivia could not find Mr. McCree among them. She was disappointed, as she wished to relay to him what she had overheard when the ladies had been upstairs freshening up for the ball, but she would see him tomorrow for luncheon, so it was no matter.

Last of all the guests to depart (who were not staying overnight) were the Ladies Hana and Olivia, who took leave of the Shimada brothers amid many thanks and expressions of endearment. The ball was pronounced “beautiful” and “glorious” and a “smashing success” by all, and Lady Hana was satisfied. Her only regrets were a blister on her left heel caused by energetic dancing in a pair of brand new slippers (Lady Olivia had insisted they were a size too small but Lady Hana would not listen) and her failure to find Lord Shimada a suitable bride. In fact, he had not appeared to be interested in any of the beautiful young ladies to whom she introduced him. She sighed. Men were so very incomprehensible sometimes.

After the overnight guests had retired to their rooms and the servants had been set about returning the house to its customary condition, Mr. McCree went upstairs and knocked quietly at the door of Lord Shimada’s chambers. Hearing the lord call out for him to enter, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He had changed his formal attire for his everyday white shirtsleeves and grey trousers, and his wavy chestnut hair had been loosed and allowed to fall about his collar. As striking as he had looked all combed and starched in his black dinner jacket, his ruggedly handsome appearance was far more suited to this casual mode of attire.

The Lord Shimada was accustomed to Mr. McCree’s evening visits, usually to remind him of some appointment or update him on some situation pertaining to the household business. As such, there was no reason for him to feel anxious about this particular interchange, but he found himself suddenly awkward and unable to decide what to do with his hands. He sat stiffly on the corner of his bed and folded them in the lap of his black silk kimono.

“I won’t take but a minute of your time, my lord,” Jesse said. He held out a large, oblong box. “I, uh…I have a gift for you. For your birthday. I didn’t want to give it to you while you were busy with your guests and things.”

“How very kind of you, Jesse, thank you,” the Lord Shimada said, taking it and smiling up at him. “What is it?”

“Well, I suppose you best open it and find out,” Jesse grinned.

The lord set the box beside him on his bed and lifted the lid. Inside, there lay a long bow, beautifully made of some kind of dark wood. It was adorned with horse-hair at the ends of the limbs, and bound with supple leather at the grip. Beside it was a leather quiver of blue shafted arrows with hawk-feather fletching.

“Do like it?” Jesse said, with a nervous laugh.

“It is beautiful, Jesse,” Hanzo said. “Where ever did you procure it, though? It is not like any I have seen in this land.”

“It’s a bow of the Comanche, an Indian tribe in the American southwest. I made it. For you.”

Hanzo sat silent for a long moment, gazing at the bow, then reached out and gently stroked the rich, silky wood.

“It is…a great gift,” he said. “I did not know you were skilled in this craft.”

“When I was a child I lived with a tribe,” Jesse explained. “They taught me just as they taught all the other boys. I was raised by a Comanche woman, in fact. Okanese was her name.”

The lord looked up at him, confused. “But what of your parents? Surely they did not leave you to be raised in the wild in the care of an Indian tribe.”

“My lord…this is something I’ve been remiss not to tell you,” Jesse said, casting his eyes down at the floor. “But maybe when I do, you’ll understand better why I—why I haven’t given you an answer. The plain truth is, I never knew my parents. Okanese found me abandoned on the road and took me in. So you see…I’m worse than a bastard. I’m a nameless, homeless foundling. I’m nothing. I would dishonor you and your family, if I accepted your…your kindness.”

“Do you believe, then,” Hanzo said slowly, “that I made my offer from kindness? That I would wish to link my life to another from charity? I love you, Jesse. I love you more than my own life. Do you not also love—”

“No, Hanzo, no,” Jesse said, backing away suddenly. “You can’t—you can’t do this to me. I can’t be the cause of any dishonor to you. I won’t be.”

Hanzo stood and took Jesse’s hands in his, holding them firmly so that he could not draw them away.

“I care little for what these English say of their nobility and purity of blood,” he said. “My family line stretches back so far as to make even the most ancient of their dynasties seem petty and contemptible to me. Only I may say what brings honor or dishonor to me, the son of Shimada Sojiro, Master of the Shimada Clan. I say that to have the love of an honorable man such as yourself would be a great honor to me.”

Jesse did not attempt to retreat again, but he turned his head away to conceal the tears that filled his eyes.

“Jesse, do you not love me? Do you not love me as I love you?”

“I do love you,” Jesse said hoarsely. “You know I do.”

All at once, he found himself being drawn into a deep, longing kiss. His mind whirled and his heart raced. He hesitated, nearly pulled away, but then at last, overcome by his beloved’s gentle insistence, he melted into the embrace, returning the kiss with equal intensity. Then he lifted his beloved in his arms and carried him to his bed, where he laid him down and sat for a while simply gazing into his magnificent, grey-black eyes.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said softly, reaching up to touch his handsome face. “Stay here with me tonight.”

Jesse smiled. “Yes, my lord.”

 

 

At around ten o’clock the following morning, Lord Shimada and his steward had just finished a leisurely breakfast in the master’s private chamber, when there was a knock at the door. Mr. McCree rose to answer it, as he had on any number of mornings when they had breakfasted together in this way (though under far less memorable circumstances).

“Morning, Mr. Otanaki,” Jesse said, with a bow to the older man. “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, Mr. McCree,” Mr. Otanaki replied. “I am glad to find you here already. There is some trouble with one of the guests and she is demanding to see the master.”

“Well, no one gets to see the master without talkin’ to me first. Which guest and what’s the trouble?”

Hanzo approached and stood listening, a few paces behind Jesse.

“It is the Lady Lacroix,” Mr. Otanaki said. “It seems that her ladyship has misplaced an item of some value. She wishes to have the servants questioned and their rooms searched, as well as those of the other overnight guests.”

“She wishes, you mean,” Hanzo said, stepping forward, “to offer me an insult in my own home by impugning the honor of my guests and those in my employ. Is that the case?”

“Master,” Mr. Otanaki said, with a low bow. “I cannot say what is in her ladyship’s mind. Only what she has said to me.”

“I bet I can reckon what’s in her ladyship’s mind,” Jesse sneered. “I’ll go set things right.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. McCree, but she was most adamant that the master be present.”

“It is alright, Jesse,” the Lord Shimada said. “I will go with you and we shall see together what is the matter.”

“She is in the drawing room, master.”

Mr. Otanaki bowed low again and then the two followed him downstairs to the drawing room. They found the Lady Lacroix seated on a chaise longue, fanning herself with her hand in the manner of a stage actress and being closely attended to by her red-haired ladies’ maid.

“Oh, Lord Shimada,” she breathed, as if under a heavy weight. “It is so good of you to come to me. I have been in such distress, I cannot tell you. I would have fainted dead away, had Molly not acted quickly and administered my vinegar bottle.”

“Lady Lacroix,” the lord said, with a stately bow. “I am sorry to find you unwell. How may I be of assistance?”

“It…it is too dreadful to say,” Lady Lacroix said, her voice wavering as if she would burst into tears at any second. “My beautiful diamond necklace, a gift from the Duke of Blackthorne himself, has gone missing!”

“You’re certain you haven’t just mislaid it, my lady?” Jesse inquired, attempting to keep a note of sarcasm out of his voice and not entirely succeeding. “Sometimes a person’s recollection ain’t as clear as they think.”

The lady sat bolt upright and her eyes shot fire. “Mind your tongue Mr. McCree! I will not be spoken to in this way by a serving man! For all I know, you yourself have—”

“Lady Lacroix,” the lord cut in quietly. “Take care, lest in your turbulent emotional state, you say something you do not intend.”

At that moment, the bell in the hall rang, indicating a visitor at the main door.

“What the devil can that be?” the Lord Shimada said irritably. “Jesse, go send whoever it is away.”

“If I may be so bold, my lord,” the Lady Lacroix’s maid interjected, in a smooth, oily tone. “I took the liberty of summoning an officer of the police to see that the matter is dealt with in an orderly fashion.”

The Lord Shimada stared at the impudent woman in utter disbelief. “You have indeed taken a liberty, Ms. O’Deorain. A great liberty, in inviting men into my house without my leave.”

“My lord, if I may?” Jesse said.

Hanzo followed him to the corner of the room and they spoke in hushed tones for a moment. Hanzo nodded, then returned to the half-swooning lady and her retainer.

“Very well, Lady Lacroix,” he said curtly. “My steward thinks that the best way to put your mind at ease and end this matter quickly will be to allow the policemen to assist. But perhaps you should govern your servants more carefully in the future. Such behavior would earn one more than a hard word, in my homeland.”

While this was passing in the drawing room, Jesse went to the front door and opened it. Then he almost laughed aloud. Two uniformed policemen stood before him, so absurdly matched that they could easily have been mistaken for comic performers. One was massively tall and copiously obese, and wore thick, dark spectacles as if he had been traveling in the Holy Land and needed to shield his eyes from the harsh desert sun. The other was preternaturally lank and gaunt, and stood with such a pronounced stoop, that one was almost tempted to lean down to speak to him.

“Good day to you, guv,” the thin one said, in an extraordinarily nasal voice. “I am sergeant Fawkes and that’s sergeant Rutledge of the Royal Constabulary.”

He elbowed his fellow officer sharply.

“Good…day,” the large one rasped, in a slow, thick manner, as if his tongue couldn’t quite wrap all the way around the words.

“Good day,” Jesse said, just managing to conceal his merriment. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“We was informed by a miss Molly O…O…” Sergeant Fawkes twisted his lips, screwed up his face, then apparently deciding the name had beaten him, began again. “We was informed by a Miss Molly O, that there’s been a theft in the ‘ouse, and we come to do our duty as sworn officers of the law to root out the thief.”

“Or _thieves_ ,” the large one added, with a ponderous nod.

“Or thieves, thank you sergeant Rutledge,” sergeant Fawkes agreed affably. “Always best not to count one’s eggs before they’re fried.”

Jesse let the two policemen in and led them to the drawing room, nearly perishing from his efforts to conceal his mirth at the puffed chests and dignified airs of the ridiculous pair, as the thin one hobbled along making absurd clopping sounds on the marble floor with his wooden peg-leg. They entered the drawing room and Jesse introduced them, then stepped aside.

“Now my lady,” sergeant Fawkes began, taking out a tiny notebook and making an ostentatious show of licking his thumb and paging through it. “If it would please your—uh…ladyship—to describe the pilfered item?”

“It is a diamond necklace,” Lady Lacroix intoned sorrowfully. “Twenty-seven diamonds and ten rubies set in gold. It is an heirloom of the Blackthorne duchy and was given to me by the Duke of Blackthorne when I married.”

“Duke…of…Blackthorne,” sergeant Fawkes repeated, scribbling in his notebook. “Would your ladyship please to spell that name for me?”

At this, sergeant Rutledge snatched away the notebook and pencil and wrote the name himself, then retained it, despite his companion’s attempt to get it back. Sergeant Fawkes, unable to retrieve the notebook, contented himself to pace to and fro with his hands behind his back, in a very detectively fashion (but for the intermittent clop-clop of his wooden leg).

“Moving on,” he said. “If you would please to describe, my lady, ‘ow it was you came to be aware of the item’s absence.”

“After the ball last night, I went to my room to change,” Lady Lacroix explained. “I placed the necklace in its case and Molly put the case in my traveling trunk. Then Molly and I walked out to take some air, because it was very hot and stuffy indoors. When we got back, the door was unlocked, but I thought Molly had left it unlocked. I thought nothing else of it and we went to bed. Then this morning, as I was dressing, Molly asked where I’d put the case. I said she knew very well it was in the trunk, I saw her put it there. She told me it was not. We turned the entire room inside out but it was nowhere to be found! Alas, if it is gone forever, I think I shall die!”

The Lady Lacroix threw her arm over her face and fell theatrically back onto the chaise longue, where her servant fanned her and cooed soothingly.

“You get all that, Rutty?” sergeant Fawkes asked his companion, leaning over to inspect what he was writing. “Room…inside…out… Spot on. Well, then. I suppose there’s nothing more to be done aside from searching every room in the ‘ouse and turning out the servants pockets.”

“You will do no such thing,” the Lord Shimada, who had been observing this farce with waning patience, broke in. “I will not have my guests and my staff insulted in this way.”

“I understand your ‘esitation, m’lord,” sergeant Fawkes said, bowing obsequiously. “But if we can’t do it by your leave, we shall ‘ave to go and get a magistrate to write up an order, and by then, the lady’s property could be ‘alfway to the diamond markets in Antwerp.”

“My lord,” Jesse put in. “Maybe this ain’t a bad idea. It’ll cost us very little to let them search the servants’ quarters. I’ll have my own room searched first, so the staff understand we’re doing this voluntarily. Then we done our diligence and ain’t insulted nobody.”

The Lord Shimada frowned. “I suppose you are right, Jesse. But I dislike this very much. Only the servants’ rooms. No one is to harass my guests. Will that satisfy you Lady Lacroix?”

“I suppose it will have to do,” Lady Lacroix pouted, from her supine position on the couch.

“Sergeants,” Jesse said to the two policemen. “I’ll go and gather the servants in the dining room and explain, then we’ll have everyone stand outside their rooms and you fellas can make your search, that sound agreeable to you?”

“We would be most —” sergeant Fawkes squeaked, then cleared his throat, “—most obliged. Thank you, sir.”

Under silent protest from Hanzo and baffled indignation from Genji, who had just come downstairs and learned of the upheaval, Jesse gathered the household staff, briefed them, and instructed them all to wait outside their rooms. Then he and Hanzo went and collected the two constables, and led them to Jesse’s room. Lady Lacroix, suddenly miraculously able to walk without fainting, accompanied the party. She stood a little away and whispered with her maid as they waited in the hall for the officers to do their work. The two banged around noisily for some time, and then fell silent for a moment. Then sergeant Fawkes clopped out to the door, looking a bit green in the face.

“My lady,” he said to Lady Lacroix. “Could your ladyship please describe that necklace again if you…please?”

Lady Lacroix did so, and the man clopped back into the room. Hanzo and Jesse looked at each other questioningly. As they did, the pair of policemen re-emerged. Sergeant Rutledge held in his huge paws, a small, rectangular, ebony box. Jesse’s stomach turned and his face burned with mortification and anger. He should have known this serpent of a woman had something up her sleeve. He had feared he would regret not reporting the discrepancies in her accounts to the Duke, and he did so bitterly now.

“That is my box!” she practically shrieked, falling into the arms of her maid.

Sergeant Fawkes, with an almost apologetic glance at Jesse, opened the box to reveal the lady’s opulent ruby and diamond necklace, glittering like a field of fiery stars in its bed of black velvet.

“You!” the Lady Lacroix said, pointing a trembling finger at the tranquil and silent steward of the Lord Shimada. “I always knew you could not be trusted! Thief! I demand that you arrest this man!”

“Enough!” Lord Shimada roared, in a voice that froze all present with fear, excepting his beloved Jesse. “Miss O’Deorain, your mistress is hysterical. Take her away this instant! When she has collected her wits, remove her from my house!”

Molly, ash-white and dumbstruck, hastily took hold of her mistress and led her bodily away, not bothering to stop for a curtsey. Sergeant Rutledge had produced a pair of iron manacles from his belt, but stood holding them, not daring to approach Jesse.

“My—my lord,” sergeant Fawkes stammered. “We are—we are obligated to…to…arrest Mr. Mc—”

“You lay your hands on this man in my house at your peril,” the lord said, grey-black eyes illuminated with rage.

He and his brother stepped imposingly toward the quaking constables, as if prepared to do battle to back this statement.

“Now, now,” Mr. McCree said languidly, leaning on the wall as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “These fellas is just doin’ their jobs. They don’t mean no offense. My lord, I’ll go with ‘em peaceable. We’ll get this all cleared up soon, but if you don’t let ‘em take me, I’ll look like a guilty man. I can’t abide that.”

“Very…very well, Jesse,” Hanzo said feebly, as if all the air had suddenly been knocked out of his lungs. “I will summon my attorneys and we will come…to the courthouse.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Jesse said placidly. Then he turned to the policemen. “If you’re thinkin’ of humiliatin’ me by clappin’ them irons on me, we’re gonna have a difference of opinion, fellas. I agreed to come peaceful like and I’m a man of my word.”

Sergeant Rutledge instantly stowed the manacles and dipped his head respectfully to Jesse. With that, the Shimada brothers watched in stunned silence as their friend was escorted from their home by uniformed policemen, to be entered into the record and locked up in the courthouse jail like a common criminal.

 

 

The rest of that day and the following week were spent in a flurry of anxious consultation, questioning of witnesses, discussion of the laws pertaining to the case, and general misery on the part of Jesse’s friends. Jesse, however, being no stranger to hard circumstances, found himself perfectly at ease in the bright, airy cell in the courthouse jail. He spent his days lounging on his cot, smoking and engaging in companionable conversation with sergeants Fawkes and Rutledge, who had got to like their young prisoner very much. Sergeant Rutledge’s (surprisingly lovely) wife brought Jesse delicious home-cooked meals and pastries, and Sergeant Fawkes smuggled him cigars. The two even politely left the room so that he and his friends could speak in private when they visited, for which Jesse was very grateful.

In the meantime, Hanzo kept his people diligently at work. The Shimada attorneys first attempted to convince Lady Lacroix to decline to press charges, as the necklace had been recovered, but she remained adamant. Then a brilliant young lawyer in Lord Reinhardt’s service had visited one day with a suggestion. The necklace, he said, was known to be an heirloom of the Blackthorne estate. In accordance with English law governing heirlooms and family inheritances, it could not be given freely as a gift to any one person. It could only legally be loaned, even if it were for the term of the borrower’s lifetime, to be ultimately returned and retained as part of the family estate.

This made the necklace the Duke’s legal property, as the sole owner of the Blackthorne property and estate. This was helpful, but did not solve the issue. As the person to whom the heirloom had been loaned, Lady Lacroix could still put forth the claim that it had been unlawfully removed from her possession by Mr. McCree. The only way to dispute this would be for the Duke himself to testify that he had either ordered Mr. McCree to take the thing from her, or that he had not given it to her in the first place.

Jesse balked at these suggestions, since neither were true. He said he knew the Duke had given her the necklace and he had not ordered Jesse to take it, and he would testify to that effect. The result was that the lawyers did not mention it to him again, but dispatched a flurry of correspondence and even sent private detectives out in search of the Duke.

As the date of the hearing approached, Hanzo began to lose hope. The Duke had not been located, nor could any news of him be discovered. Jesse remained firm in his refusal to expose his whereabouts the night of the supposed theft, and the Ladies Hana and Olivia had failed to convince the Lady Lacroix to be merciful. The Duchess of Marlborough, who had become friendly with the Shimadas over the passing weeks, had acted as an emissary as well. But even her angelic sweetness (and high social rank) had been powerless to move the Lady Lacroix from her purpose.

The evening before the hearing, Hanzo sat in the parlor smoking with Genji, and opened his mind to him at last.

“Brother,” he said. “I must tell you something that it may be…difficult to hear. But it will perhaps ease your mind, since it will guarantee that Jesse goes free tomorrow.”

Genji practically leapt from his chair with astonishment and delight. “This is wonderful news, brother! What is it? You must tell me!”

“Several months ago,” Hanzo said slowly, “before we traveled to Brighton, I asked Jesse to…to be… I asked Jesse to marry me.”

Genji’s eyes grew as big and round as saucers. “Oh, brother…you asked Jesse to marry you? I did not know that you had feelings of this kind for him. What did he say?”

“He refused to give me an answer at that time,” Hanzo said. “He confessed to me later that he could not agree to marry me because his station and his lack of any family would do dishonor to me. But he did say he loved me. I know he loves me. And…and we spent the night together. This was the night of my birthday party. The night Lady Lacroix claims he stole the necklace.”

“But brother, why have you not told the policemen and had Jesse released? Why do you allow him to be held unjustly?”

“He will not allow me to do it. I have begged him. He insists he will not ‘throw me on the coals’ to save his own honor, as he put it.”

“But brother, if you know him to be innocent and you can prove this, you must tell the court.”

“I know it, Genji. And I have vowed within myself that tomorrow, I will swear in open court that Jesse spent the night in my bed, whether he likes it or no. I wished first to tell you, but I shall also warn the Ladies Hana and Olivia and the Duchess to stay away from the hearing, lest they be associated with such scandal. If you wished to stay away as well, I would not blame you.”

Genji took his brother’s hand and squeezed it. “No. I will stand proudly beside the two most honorable men that I know. If this little country shire cannot respect you as you are, we will leave them to their small-minded bigotry and make our home in better and brighter lands.”

Jesse spent the night before his hearing in silent agony, pacing his cell and smoking, as he had spent his last night at Blackthorne. He had maintained a hopeful façade for his friends, but he had been internally tormented. This little cell was nothing, but the deep, dark cages of the London prisons would be a sentence worse than death to him. He debated over and over again in his mind, and almost resolved to ask Hanzo to expose their night together and release him from this web of lies woven by the venomous she-spider. But what kind of man would he be if he counted his beloved’s honor of less worth than his freedom? What were a few years in a cage? However deep and dark and far away from the wind and rain and soil beneath his feet. As he laid down in his bed at last, his heart cried out for Okanese, the only mother he had ever known, and he wept like a child once more.

 

 

Despite Hanzo’s warning to them, the Ladies Hana and Olivia, with the Duchess of Marlborough all arrived bright and early at the courthouse. In fact, many who the Shimadas had not expected to be present had come to act as character witnesses for Jesse, if only to help mitigate his sentence, were he found guilty. Lord Reinhardt was there with his wife Lady Ana and daughter Lady Fareeha, Lord and Lady Song arrived and sat with Lady Hana, and even some local merchants and businessmen had come, including Mr. Lindholm, the postmaster. Lady Lacroix sat behind her lawyers, head held high and haughty and speaking to no one, as if defying the entire town to despise her.

When Jesse was led into the courtroom by sergeant Rutledge, his eyes filled and he had to hide his face for a moment to conceal his emotion. So many wonderful people had come to support him. So many friends. He was sworn in, and then took his place in the box (a little rectangle surrounded by wood railing, where accused men were made to stand in those days). As the judge began his droning preamble, Jesse’s eyes strayed around the courtroom, and his heart sank. Of all the dear and lovely faces present, the one he had hoped most to see was absent.

The judge laid out the charge against Mr. McCree: unlawful removal of a valuable heirloom from the legal possession of one Lady Amélie Lacroix, and unlawful possession of this heirloom which had been found in his private room, behind a locked door to which only he had the key. The evidence had all been examined at length, and the purpose of this hearing was only to allow the court to make a decision regarding sentencing. Character witnesses were encouraged to testify on behalf of the accused. So, unless anyone possessed any evidence that would materially alter the case, the character witnesses would begin to be called. Hanzo looked at Genji, who nodded encouragingly. Then, with a pounding heart, he took a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet.

“I have new evidence,” a rolling, sonorous voice said from the back of the courtroom.

The assembled crowd turned as one man and looked to the source of this commanding voice. Many gasped audibly, and all fell silent. Up the center aisle, clad all in black, raven-black waves of hair tied back at the nape of the neck with a crimson ribbon, strode the Duke of Blackthorne. At the foremost row of benches, he stayed his heavy steps and stood tall and lofty, like an ebony tower beside Hanzo.

“Your—your grace,” the judge sputtered, pushing up his spectacles. “It is—I mean to say that this portion of the hearing is not for character witnesses, only the introduction of material evidence.”

“I have material evidence,” the Duke said coolly. “Does the court wish to hear it, or shall I take it directly to the Queen?”

“By, ah, by all means, your grace, please pro—proceed,” the judge replied, mopping a sudden cold sweat from his brow.

The Duke strode up to the bench and produced some documents, which he set down before the judge, telling him to look them over, if he’d be so kind. The judge took them, shrinking visibly in his seat under the Duke’s black gaze. Then the Duke turned those fiery eyes on the Lady Lacroix. The room was so silent one could have heard a pin drop. Even though he spoke quietly, all he said was plainly audible to all present.

“Amélie,” he said, with a sigh. “Have I not given you enough? Have I not forgiven you enough?”

One of her lawyers rose to object, met the Duke’s eye, and dropped back into his seat like a sack of potatoes. The lady tossed her head and looked away.

“This necklace,” the Duke continued, “worn by my mother and her mother before her, is an heirloom of my house. You possessed it as you do all other things you possess: by my kindness. And yet you have used my kindness to work malice. To accuse the most honest man I have ever known of theft.”

At this, the lady leapt up to face him, eyes alight and ready for battle.

“You think so highly of this serving man,” she spat, waving a hand at Jesse. “You never thought so highly of your own kin. Letting Gérard and me live in that drafty dungeon of a castle with a meager pittance to live upon, when you possess the wealth of nations for yourself!”

“I took what care I could of you, Amélie. Gérard’s debts were many. Yours even greater. Do you think I do not know to whom and for what sums you are beholden?”

This caught the lady off her guard, but she recovered and riposted. “It matters very little, Gabriel, what you say of me. Your wild little American slave boy will not escape the law.”

“He will not,” the Duke said tranquilly.

“You will not deny, then, that you gave me this necklace to wear for my lifetime and that is my legal possession unless the owner of the Blackthorne estate require it of me?”

“I do not deny it.”

“And you will not say that you ordered your servant Jesse McCree to retrieve it?”

“I did not order my servant Jesse McCree to retrieve it.”

The lady’s lovely eyes danced with malevolent triumph. “Then you may sit down, Gabriel, because he has committed a crime. And nothing you can say will change the law.”

“Amélie, you were once so beautiful and good. How is it that you have become so twisted with malice?” The Duke’s eyes flitted briefly to the face of Molly, the lady’s maid. “But it is no longer up to me to care for you and attempt to make you happy again. Let us only hope your new landlord is inclined to be equally as generous as I have been.”

“Your grace,” the judge interjected timidly, “am I to understand that you wish to have all of this submitted into evidence before the court…and the assembled spectators?”

“I do,” the Duke said. “It is impossible for an English court to hold a man guilty of theft for possessing his own legal property, is it not?”

“Yes, your grace,” the judge said, fanning himself with the document, then realizing what he was doing and hastily setting it down. “Possession of one’s own property cannot be deemed theft, no matter how or by what means it was obtained.”

“Then no crime has been committed,” the Duke said to the assembly. “The papers in the right honorable justice’s hand are a certificate of identity, a legal recognition of a natural child, and a writ of inheritance. The latter of these states in ironclad terms that the entirety of the Blackthorne estate and property have been transferred to the sole possession of my—of my son. The Lord Jesse James McCree, Earl of Blackthorne.”

The Duke turned to face Jesse at last, gazing almost pleadingly into his large, amber-brown eyes. Jesse stared silently back into the face of the strange nobleman who had hired him as guide through Indian country all those years ago.

Around them, the court erupted in a chaos of cheers, exclamations, questions, laughter, tears, more questions, and more cheers. Then a lady fainted dead away from shock and people rushed to her aid and someone called for the doors to be opened and let in some air, for god’s sake, and the judge sat banging his gavel impotently until it broke in two and he flung it away in disgust.

Through all of this, the father and son remained still and silent, locked in wordless communication, utterly oblivious to the outside world.

Genji wished to run to Jesse’s side and congratulate him at once, but Hanzo stayed him. Instead, they left the courtroom and joined the Ladies Hana and Olivia and the Duchess (who, being ladies, had understood the situation immediately and had known to make themselves scarce).

“What did I tell you, conejita,” Lady Olivia was saying to Lady Hana. “You did the right thing. And now, you can say that the son of the most powerful man in England outside the royal family was first introduced to society at your own dinner party.”

“Oh, Livvie, you are ridiculous,” Lady Hana sniffled (she’d been among those who shed tears). “Who could care for such a thing when our dear Jesse has a father now! A real father of his own! But…do you really think I can say that? The party was Lord Shimada’s, after all.”

“It was your party, Lady Hana,” Hanzo smiled. “And that is just what I mean to tell everyone.”

“Thank you, Lord Shimada. You are too kind,” Lady Hana laughed, giving a low curtsey. “I wonder, though, why did the Duke not simply tell Jesse who he was and make everything right from the beginning? And why did he dismiss Jesse and disappear?”

“I may be able to clarify that for you, Lady Hana,” a voice said behind her.

She turned to find herself looking up at a tall, handsome gentleman with white hair and brilliant, sea-blue eyes.

“Reverend Morrison!” she almost screamed. “You are alive! The Duke has not murdered you!”

“Murdered—murdered me?” the Reverend asked, bewildered and somewhat startled.

“My dear Hana lets her imagination run wild at times,” Lady Olivia laughed. “It is so good to see you, dear Reverend.”

“Not Reverend anymore, I’m afraid, Lady Olivia,” he replied. “And…ah, not Morrison either, to be accurate.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Hana asked, before her friend could stop her.

The former Reverend smiled bashfully and blushed to the ears, which made his blue eyes shine ever the brighter.

“I took…well…I took my husband’s name, Lady Hana,” he said. “I am Lord Reyes, now. Or so they tell me.”

Lady Hana stood gaping for a long moment as suddenly everything she had observed between the Duke and the Reverend unfolded clearly in her mind.

“Oh, how very romantic,” she breathed. Then she immediately burst into tears. “How very romantic and how very lovely. I wish you all the joy in the world, dear, dear Rev—I mean Lord Reyes.”

“Thank you very much, Lady Hana,” the newly-minted Lord Reyes smiled. “But before we scatter, the Duke bid me invite you all to luncheon at Blackthorne. I will explain everything to you there, and we will have a look at the house. There have been a few changes made since we left in August.”

The few changes to which Lord Reyes referred amounted to the entire interior and much of the exterior of the sprawling Blackthorne manor being utterly unrecognizable. The deep shadows had been routed out, the ancient tapestries had vanished, the cold marble floors were softened with rich, vibrant Turkey carpets, and the windows even seemed to admit more sunlight, somehow.

All of the furniture had been updated, the massive library had been dusted and set in order, and the entire place had a warm, bright, inviting aspect that was the polar opposite of its former forbidding, fortress-like gloom. Outside, the gardens had been filled with cheerful flowers and fruit trees, and the stable, though already large, had been expanded to include seven new stalls and a training arena.

The band of friends (that is, the former Reverend, the Lord and Genji Shimada, the Ladies Hana and Olivia, and the Duchess of Marlborough) sat down to a delightful luncheon in the garden tea-house. The Duke’s new husband, having been given permission to discuss this very private business among their circle of close friends, explained what he could of the situation.

The child who would come to be called Jesse McCree was the son of the Duke and a young American woman named Carolina, who despite being lovely, kind, and well-educated, had been denied any position in society due to her having been born of a Comanche mother and a white father. The Duke had accompanied the Reverend on one of his missions to America and they had both become close in friendship with the young woman, who worked as the Reverend’s housekeeper.

Seeking to ease her hard circumstances and thinking also to quell the fire of his unrequited love for his friend, the Duke had married her. Carolina was soon with child, and the Duke intended to remove his young wife to his home in England after her confinement, as soon as she and the child should be strong enough for the journey. Alas, it was during this time that Carolina discovered the secret love between her husband and his friend (by what means, the Reverend did not tell). She fled to her friends among the Comanche, vowing that if the Duke should pursue her, she would end her life.

The Duke spoke bitterly to the Reverend, saying that he held her to have abandoned him and thus forfeited her vows and made a bastard of her child. He departed for England in wrath, of which he later repented. The Revered sought for Carolina as he could, but having the charge of a congregation and not being in possession of great resources, he could do little but wait and hope for her return.

One day a Comanche woman named Okanese had brought to the Reverend a letter written in Carolina’s hand, speaking of her forgiveness for her friends and her wish that they remember her kindly. The Reverend asked that Okanese go to her friend and beg her to return with the child and be reconciled to her husband. Okanese then revealed that Carolina had died in childbirth. Since it was her wish that her son be raised among the Comanche, Okanese refused to reveal to the Reverend where the infant had been bestowed, only assuring him that her cousin’s son would be well cared for before she departed.

The Reverend wrote to the Duke of these tidings, and the Duke repented bitterly of his wrath and returned to America in haste, hoping to find the child at least, though the mother had been lost. He spent long, fruitless weeks daring the wild beasts and the unforgiving desert climate in search of his son. At last his duty to the crown forced him to return home, but he swore never to abandon the search. He returned each year to brave the desert once again, and departed each time more desperate and disappointed than before.

When he discovered the boy at last, by chance and under an assumed name, he brought him home, but found he could not bear to tell him the truth of his origin. He hoped to simply will the property to him eventually and leave things that way. The Reverend Morrison had strenuously objected, and urged the Duke to reveal the matter to his son. Finally, he made the Duke an offer. He would leave the church and marry him at last, if he gave Jesse the Blackthorne estate and made him aware of his true identity.

The Duke had instantly agreed, and hastened to make preparations. He had sent Jesse to Lord Shimada only so that the house and grounds could be prepared for his triumphant return home as the new master of Blackthorne. Then the Reverend had resigned from the church and he and the Duke had gone away to be married forthwith.

They were on their wedding tour in Mexico (a strange choice, Lady Hana thought) when they received a bundle of letters from Shimada attorneys regarding Jesse’s predicament. Then they had traveled back across the sea in great haste and anxiety to rescue Jesse and make matters right. The dramatic timing of the Duke's revelation had been contrived, however, as they had been in town two days before the trial, but the Duke could not be dissuaded from having his spectacle.

The group listened with rapt attention as the former Reverend Morrison unfolded the tale. They sat silent ruminating on it for a while, but as friends who are happy tend to do, they soon fell to chatting and laughing and enjoying their meal together. The party were strolling about the velvety green lawn, taking advantage of the sunny autumn weather, when the carriage bearing the Duke and his son rolled up the drive.

The party gathered as the two men approached and greeted them in a cheerful, if somewhat subdued manner. It was apparent to all that Jesse had been weeping. His eyes were rimmed with red and his face was pale and weary, but happy and content. The former Reverend, now Lord Reyes, took his husband’s hand, and their friends marveled to see the change that this wrought in the Duke. His hard, severe face now appeared rather strong and noble, and his fierce eyes now intense and beautiful, softened by the open adoration with which he gazed upon his beloved.

“My Lord Shimada,” Jesse said gravely, stepping forward. “Due to a certain…change in my circumstances, I feel it’s only right that I now ask to be dismissed from your service.”

“Of course, Jesse,” Hanzo said, his smooth voice choking with emotion.

“And furthermore…I would…it would be my honor…if you—well, heck. Will you marry me?”

“Of course, Jesse!” Hanzo said, laughing through his tears. “I asked you months ago!”

The group broke into merry cheers and shouts of congratulation, but for Lady Hana, who was having yet another of her silent, open-mouthed epiphanies.

“What is the matter, conejita?” Lady Olivia asked, embracing her friend. “Are you not happy for Jesse and Lord Shimada?”

“Oh, I am!” Lady Hana said. “But I fear that makes two spectacular misjudgments on my part. I think I had better retire from the matchmaking game altogether.”

“You are rather awful at it, my dear,” Lady Olivia laughed. “Perhaps it would be best if you limit yourself to planning your friends’ weddings, once they have seen to the engagements on their own. But come, let us congratulate our friends.”

 

 

Jesse chose to have his surname legally changed to his father’s, and the Shimada-Reyes wedding was the premier social event of the season, seeing more than two-hundred guests at the reception following. Even the Lady Lacroix had been present, having since been reconciled to Jesse and the Duke. After some clever work on the part of Sergeants Fawkes and Rutledge, in cooperation with the Earl of Blackthorne’s agents, Lady Lacroix’s maid Molly had been arrested. No one could persuade the involved parties to reveal anything of what had transpired, but it was rumored that Molly had been found to be using a hypnotic herb from the Andes mountains to influence her mistress unduly.

The merriment of the Shimada-Reyes wedding had hardly died down, when the wedding of the Lord Genji Shimada and Her Grace Lady Angela, the Duchess of Marlborough was announced. Thus, Lady Hana and Lady Olivia lived for a few months in a whirl of excitement and gaiety that rivalled anything Lady Hana had hoped for when the London season had ended that year.

When their friends had gone away to spend their wedding tours in a castle by the sea in faraway Japan, and everything was quiet again, Lady Hana found she was rather grateful to have things back to normal. Still, she was not entirely content. One night, when she and Lady Olivia sat quietly at their needlework, she sighed and tossed the piece of lace away, then slumped down onto the divan in the tragic attitude that signaled her wish for attention. Her faithful companion came and sat beside her.

“What is the matter my dear,” Lady Olivia said. “You cannot already be growing bored again.”

“No, it is not that,” Lady Hana replied. “It is only that…all our dear friends have married and gone away and they are so very happy. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I cannot help but feel that I shall never have such happiness. I think that perhaps…I shall never be married.”

“Well, my darling, if you have no one else, I will marry you and make you my very own forever. We can sit at our needlework together in the evening and meddle in everyone’s affairs in the daytime and you will never grow bored again.”

“Stop it Livvie,” Lady Hana pouted. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I am not making fun of you my dear conejita,” Lady Olivia said gravely. “I mean it. Marry me, my love.”

“Livvie!” Lady Hana gasped, sitting up and looking wide-eyed into her friend’s face. “You—you are my closest and dearest friend and…and I love you more than all the world. Of course I will marry you!”

Then Lady Olivia threw her arms around her beloved and placed a gentle kiss on her soft, pouting lips. Then another, and then another, until she was scolded and reminded to behave herself like a lady. Then her dear Lady Hana nestled up beside her, resting her head on her shoulder and hummed contentedly.

After a moment she drew back again and said, “You know, Livvie, it really is about time.”

“Oh really?” Lady Olivia laughed, stroking her darling’s auburn curls.

“Really,” Lady Hana said. “Mother and I were beginning to fear you would never ask.”

 

 

 


End file.
